an artist

“Why art your not here?”

He’s getting better every day. Just a little bit every day. I though about buying them that language learning program they sell but then I had to tell myself that might just be a bit foolish, they don’t have a computer. Still, the time they spend with us is time they learn. We’ve all bought them books in the languages we all speak, lower-school grade books but everyone has to start somewhere.

I look back up to the beautiful painting hanging on the wall, I briefly glance about to the rest of the hanging paintings and I smile down at him faintly. “I love drawing and painting, but I don’t think my art is good enough to be here.”

He gives me a puzzled look and I muss his two-toned hair gently. He laughs softly and latches onto my arm lightly. It’s just us three today. Quentin was somewhat feverish when he woke up so I just gave him a couple more blankets, easily made hot tea and wrapped up. This trip to the museum had been planned for a couple of days and the twins had been looking forward to it since it had been mentioned, I couldn’t back out. I didn’t want to disappoint them.

“I draw well, but these artist draw better.” I guess it’s the simplest way to put that kind of thing. I do consider myself an artist, I know that I could probably have art up in galleries if I really wanted to, hell I could ask Alexis and he’d make it a reality but I don’t really feel like this is something I should do. There’s too much I want to do with my life to really ‘settle’ for being around when my art goes up in galleries. It’s too public for me at this point in my life.

Maybe when I’ll have had to leave this life behind and slip into a new one the way Alexis does. Maybe then I’ll see about trying to get my old paintings out and seen by the public. I’d claim it to be the work of my unknown father or something. I have a world of time to get to that point, so I’m not really in any rush.

I lead the boys to the next painting. I motion to the small plaque next to it. Agni reads it slowly, one word after the other and I gently correct the way he pronounces his words. I have them read the plaques in turn, so they each discover new words. They look at the huge painting, perhaps trying to understand it. I see it from an artist’s perspective, I guess. I wonder what was going through the painter’s mind when in the painting process, what was the goal of the painting and so on. They just are curious to understand what they’re seeing.

We spend a few hours wandering from one wall to the next. On our way out of the museum we decide, as one, that we deserve a snack. We find a small little food place on the way to the bus stop and we each just get a light snack. I admit I really like watching these two discover the world. Discover new foods and new things. It’s a wonderful way to look at life in general. They’re so innocent in their own way.

Once we’re done with our food, we head towards the bus stop and merely wait with the others already there. We get on when it stops and I lead the twins towards the halfway point, there’s a three-seater against the wall and I settle there. I feel almost like their protector. Zora made it rather clear that she wasn’t all that comfortable with the idea of my taking the twins out to the museum on my own but that they were absolutely looking forward to it so she let me take them. I want to keep them safe, I can’t help it.

They chatter slightly together, a mix of French, English and Hindi, it’s mostly Hindi but I can catch bits and pieces of the other two languages they try to throw in. It’s good practice.

I could have us dropped off at the usual stop which is just two streets away from home but there is the matter of getting some food back. I promised Quentin I’d bring in a few things just the same for his fever. We get off a couple of stops earlier and I walk us to the little shop I often go into. It has little bits of everything that’s not on this place, it’s why I like it so much.

I let the twins browse, knowing they might touch a little but nothing to the point of breaking and I go about locating those few spices I need, a few slight cuts of meat and some vegetables I don’t have growing up in the garden yet. I head back to the counter, pay for my things and bag them before heading towards the door. Once there I merely stop and wait. I figure that once they notice where I’m at, they’ll come.

It only takes them a couple of minutes before they spot me and head back in my direction. We step outside again and start on the way home. The weather is much warmer now. Still not warm enough to go around without a comfortable coat and a light scarf though. I have to assume that this is why Quentin is feverish to begin with. He spent time outside yesterday without a jacket on. I don’t know what he was thinking.

Once at their building, I walk the twins up to their apartment. I want to make sure their sister knows I didn’t just abandon them and they somehow made their way back home on their own.

She seems rather glad they’re back. She nods just slightly, a curt sort of thing and I smile before turning back to head down and across the street to my sleeping lover. When he’s sick in any way, not that it has happened often but it has a couple of times. he tends to sleep through most of it. Still I figure it doesn’t hurt to pamper him at least a little while I can.

We’re good for one another, is what I want to believe in.

I let myself in, put the food away, check in on him briefly. He’s sleeping for the time being so I let him. I’ll prepare him a spicy tea later on to get him to sweat the rest of his fever out.

I walk towards my studio, I guess being asked why my art wasn’t in museums gets you thinking. I just lean against the doorway, looking at the scattered paintings. The one with the scented oils, the ones without, the ones that are just sketches at this point. I suppose I could be famous if I wanted. My paintings maybe could be sold for gazillion dollars. What would I do with it all? What would I have to do to escape the fame that most likely would come with it all?

No, really. I’d rather let at least a lifetime pass before I let the public in on the painting I do now. It will just be so much simpler. I’m a simple sort of person. I don’t like things to be too complicated. An artist I may be, but one who prefers to keep to himself.


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