Moonlight came cascading through the window in his painting, perhaps a little more than it did in real life, caressing the edges of Rexanna's body and sparkling in the shine of her dress, highlighting hairs that had wandered stray from her head and creating a halo. The light was diffused over the back of the couch and floor so that the sharper lines drew focus to Rexanna.
He was changing over brushes and mixing a colour for her skin when she asked him about his old sanctuary. Right away, a nostalgic smile lit up his face. God, it felt like it had been so long - he had only left (or rather, been pulled away from) Venice a few months ago but already the small staircase and balcony window of his bedroom in the top floor of the sanctuary felt so far away.
"Sadly, not quite so simple. Where I was from, there was a lot of poverty and those who were born poor did not have much opportunity. The rich created the art, and it was a shame, because Nobles are terrible at it." With a sharp laugh he began to paint in her face, just a blank shape for the moment as he got the colour down. "So, I made a deal with the talented and destitute. They could live with me, with other artists. Have supplies, space, everything they needed. But."
Bastien looked over the side of his canvas, held up a finger to really punctuate this point. "It was a selfish place and you had to care for yourself, too. So each artist gave me 50% of profits and spread my name with them as their sponsor. Soon, I was the most influential art personality in Venice."
He shrugged, began to paint in her arms. "Of course, I did care greatly for those in my care. Spent much time with them. ...I hope they are alright without me."
He was changing over brushes and mixing a colour for her skin when she asked him about his old sanctuary. Right away, a nostalgic smile lit up his face. God, it felt like it had been so long - he had only left (or rather, been pulled away from) Venice a few months ago but already the small staircase and balcony window of his bedroom in the top floor of the sanctuary felt so far away.
"Sadly, not quite so simple. Where I was from, there was a lot of poverty and those who were born poor did not have much opportunity. The rich created the art, and it was a shame, because Nobles are terrible at it." With a sharp laugh he began to paint in her face, just a blank shape for the moment as he got the colour down. "So, I made a deal with the talented and destitute. They could live with me, with other artists. Have supplies, space, everything they needed. But."
Bastien looked over the side of his canvas, held up a finger to really punctuate this point. "It was a selfish place and you had to care for yourself, too. So each artist gave me 50% of profits and spread my name with them as their sponsor. Soon, I was the most influential art personality in Venice."
He shrugged, began to paint in her arms. "Of course, I did care greatly for those in my care. Spent much time with them. ...I hope they are alright without me."
Bastien
With a flash of the ankle, snarl of the lip
I see you in the street and gasp
Cause only Anarchists are pretty
I see you in the street and gasp
Cause only Anarchists are pretty
