When Suzanne awoke it was winter time. Someone stole the grass, replaced it with snow and raked up the leaves, and disposed of them in a special hole that was dug in the earth, far from where Suzanne could see it. It was probably Mother Nature, but Suzanne did not believe in such a superstition. No, it was for the best that snow was on the ground, and the naked trees looked more fragile than ever. Suzanne wanted to blow them a kiss, but was worried the tiny egress of air from her mouth might act like a most horrible gust to the trees and knock them over. The trees, after all, were as delicate as her wrists.
It was nine in the morning, a time which she was not accustomed to getting up at. She had no reason to get up early because she was twenty-five and her parents were among the elite. Suzanne went to an art school on the West Coast for a few years - it may have been CalArts, but it does not matter - but thought all the sun and ocean-soaked bodies were proving to be adverse to her creative process. To Suzanne, jumping into the pacific or driving to Orange County was fun for life, but it made for really dull art. So, she had to leave and go back home to Maine, and try painting in the dark because in Los Angeles, when the sun turns off, the city lights turn on. There is never darkness.
"How are you going to paint if there is no light?" Suzanne's old roommate used to ask her when she would hide away in her dorm to paint with all the lights off and a Beach House record playing quietly in the background.
"That's the point." Suzanne would respond with.
"I don't get it." The roommate would say, her intelligence feeling like it had been battered.
"Of course not."
At that point, the roommate would leave, and not come back for several hours. So as to let the artist create. Suzanne's masterpiece from the "Nightlight" Sessions was of a withered and naked tree in wintertime. There were other trees present in the background, but they were clearly not the focal point.
The viewer's eye was meant to be drawn to a forlorn-looking tree, with its hunched-over stature, as though, like Atlas, it held the world upon its shoulders, but could not bear the cruelness of it, and tried to intervene and help, but when it discovered that its presence made no difference compared to when it was absent, decided the world was better off taking care of itself, and gave it up completely. The bark looked dead and cold. The branches were too skinny to support any weight, so they were barren. It was in the middle, and it was impossible to avoid even if you wanted to. Understandable, since the Human Condition is hard on the eyes in winter time.
TO BE CONTINUED
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