the desire to paint

Tuesday, December 5, 2006

unhappy perhaps is man, but happy the artist torn by desire!
I am consumed by a desire to paint a man who appears to me so rarely, at end of a tired week, like a beautiful regretted thing the voyager leaves behind as he is carried into the night.
He is handsome and more than beautiful; he is surprising. Darkness in him abounds, all that he inspires is nocturnal and profound. His eyes are two caverns where mystery dimly glistens, and like a lightning flash, his glance illuminates: it is an explosion in the dark.
I have compared him to a black sun, if one can imagine a blcak star pouring out light and happiness. But he makes one think rather of the moon, which has surely marked him with its portentious influence; not the white moon of idylls which resembles a frigid bride, but the sinister and intoxicating moon that hangs deep in a dtormy night, hurtled by the driven clouds; not the discreet and peaceful moon that visits pure men while they sleep, but the moon torn from the sky, the moon that the Thessalian Witches compel to dance on the winded grass!
That forehead is inhabited by a tenacious will and a desire for

There are men who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and take your pleasure of them, but this one fills you with the desire to die slowly beneath his gaze.