@maplehoe // CONTINUED
HE HAD never seen paintings quite the same way since he saw men cart of rolls of canvas, all holding the truth of the new world ( * it was what they called it, as if they were nothing but a world of wonder to plunder for all its resources ) in their paint strokes that imitated nothing but the vision they wanted to present. it spoke of nothing of the people he had seen, spoke nothing of the suffering dealt by both factions & how one voice was subsumed by another. this was the story they wanted to hear & mattie had the rest locked up in his throat.
he smiled, the expression notably dull & lackluster. there was still the paintings of those in the far west coast who created masks carved from cedar & boned burned down to charcoal for black pigments. it was something, he supposed. something. yet they still carted off those artifacts & placed them behind glass walls for people to gawk at.
❛ i’ve seen the one where the founding fathers are signing of the declaration of independence, ❜ he shrugged, recalling how his sister had shown him, her face beaming with pride. how she had asked him why he did not join her cause when her people had burned his first & sent franklin in afterwards to persuade an already damaged heart. then he thought of the photograph that displayed his own fathers of confederation. how hungover they all were as they gave birth to an entire nation through days of fruitless bickering & nights of extreme debauchery. thought of how people would never even realize the truth of it all, ❛ i’m afraid i’ve no mind for art. not like yours. ❜
there is very little vincenza is more CAPTIVATED by than art –––––– the way a few simple brushstrokes across canvas can tell years of stories , and how artists themselves are PRESERVED within their pieces , a kind of immortality that seems much KINDER than her own. days are spent wandering museums ; they have a certain sense to them , a TIMELESSNESS found no where else , and the air seems to always glow there.
she tends to start talking about art to anyone who will lend an ear , no matter WHO her words fall upon ; constant ghost - like wandering of galleries makes these discussions SECOND NATURE to vincenza , and she sees no reason for anyone to be any less excited than she. what is there not to love about art? are all of their cultures not shaped by what they create? she who may as well have built her bones from paintbrushes and cities from used canvases cannot comprehend anything else.
❝ oh, oh no, that piece is FAR from his best ––––– trumbull did some truly beautiful landscapes , but all anyone knows is his pieces of the founding fathers. don’t tell merry i said this , but they were all rather UGLY , weren’t they? not good painting subjects at all. ❞ she takes the air of an EXCITED CHILD when she talks of art , hardly noticing how much less interested mattie seems to be , images swirling in her mind & recited in a moment. ❝ but that’s not the point ––––– oh! , trumbull also painted some myths ; there is a painting he did of priam and hector that’s just GORGEOUS , i swear. it’s amazing –––– how the gold GLINTS in the sunlight , and the clouds in the background ––––– i hate admitting that any american artists could beat my own , you know , but trumbull comes close. ❞
