[ It is not said, directly, but here and there. That even mention comes up little and late, despite it being the whole of her letter to him. That it began with other thoughts. That he writes of loss but good spirits despite it, his small problems alongside. "I am happy for you both" without the 'only' of her example.
And so she thinks it is true. And then she thinks for another day, and drapes a veil over her reply as well. ]
B—
Despite the pain there, which I am sure your ready smile is helping to alleviate, I might be envious that you are travelling in Orlais save that I am having a lovely time on this ship.
I once kept company with another landscape artist who loved to paint the sea. Not even where it touches the land, only water upon water. 'How can you paint so?' I would exclaim. 'There is nothing!' It has taken me until now, watching it as I do each day, to find I was wrong— there is everything; it was simply that I did not know how to see it beyond my thoughts of what was missing.
Whilst I was learning, it made me cross to see other ships on the horizon. Even only their sails in the distance got in the way of my contemplation! Of course I knew we could not be the only ship on the sea, that would be terribly silly. After all there is trade that must be done, pleasure jaunts to be had, but even so, I was not sure yet, of the sea. What were they seeing, from those other ships? Things I could not? Unbearable.
But time passed; and one night, when I could barely see the horizon, and I felt I was alone with it, we came to a sort of accord. Now, even in the light I find I can love the sea with a sort of breathless freedom, and I think, perhaps, it has loved me back all the while. I find I can be glad of other ships, others who might be standing at the rail loving it too.
Perhaps one of them is my old friend! It pleases me greatly to think so. There is enough sea for us both, and I need not worry about which of us is painting it better. My paintings shall never be the same as his, for I think the sea is different for each of us, and it should be silly to compare our work. Perhaps together, with enough care and dedication, he and I might manage to paint a more complete picture; as it deserves.
And it is nice to think someone will always be painting it. After all, as you know, the land is a great love of mine and I shall never abandon it. I cannot give all my brushstrokes to the sea, and when I am elsewhere it would grieve me to think there is no-one looking at it with love. I should never wish it lonely.
Per your request, I will bring you two songs of joy; one they sing alone, and one together.
no subject
And so she thinks it is true. And then she thinks for another day, and drapes a veil over her reply as well. ]
B—
Despite the pain there, which I am sure your ready smile is helping to alleviate, I might be envious that you are travelling in Orlais save that I am having a lovely time on this ship.
I once kept company with another landscape artist who loved to paint the sea. Not even where it touches the land, only water upon water. 'How can you paint so?' I would exclaim. 'There is nothing!' It has taken me until now, watching it as I do each day, to find I was wrong— there is everything; it was simply that I did not know how to see it beyond my thoughts of what was missing.
Whilst I was learning, it made me cross to see other ships on the horizon. Even only their sails in the distance got in the way of my contemplation! Of course I knew we could not be the only ship on the sea, that would be terribly silly. After all there is trade that must be done, pleasure jaunts to be had, but even so, I was not sure yet, of the sea. What were they seeing, from those other ships? Things I could not? Unbearable.
But time passed; and one night, when I could barely see the horizon, and I felt I was alone with it, we came to a sort of accord. Now, even in the light I find I can love the sea with a sort of breathless freedom, and I think, perhaps, it has loved me back all the while. I find I can be glad of other ships, others who might be standing at the rail loving it too.
Perhaps one of them is my old friend! It pleases me greatly to think so. There is enough sea for us both, and I need not worry about which of us is painting it better. My paintings shall never be the same as his, for I think the sea is different for each of us, and it should be silly to compare our work. Perhaps together, with enough care and dedication, he and I might manage to paint a more complete picture; as it deserves.
And it is nice to think someone will always be painting it. After all, as you know, the land is a great love of mine and I shall never abandon it. I cannot give all my brushstrokes to the sea, and when I am elsewhere it would grieve me to think there is no-one looking at it with love. I should never wish it lonely.
Per your request, I will bring you two songs of joy; one they sing alone, and one together.
—A