Étienne

‘Modern-day Parisian artists, who spend hours sketching at the Louvre, may colloquially claim to live there. But in the 17th and 18th centuries, artists really did live in the Louvre.’ (James 2017).

Étienne fastened his hands on his back and glided them into his pockets as he let out a warm breath. The cold was numbing his fingertips and through the squint of his eyes he watched the water dance in all colors. Colors he craved to hold in his grip. He leaned over the cold stone railing and looked over to the Seine. He was turning and twisting his hand in his pocket as if he was nervous. Tightly corseted women and men in all colors of three-piece suits crowded his silhouette over the bridge and he stayed stagnant through this parade. ‘I will.’ A small whisper blew into the wind and dissipated into the leaves caught in this breeze. He turned on his heel with a slight smirk on his face and strode through Pont Neuf. He tuned into the clicking of the carriages and skipped to the rhythm. He swiftly brushed his hands over the rough bristles of the brooms displayed in the small tented magasins. He fixed his gaze upon the colonnaded beauty of the Louvre. He fastened his pace as he entered through the gates.

 ‘Madame Allaire…’ he nodded as he made his way through the corridors. The snoopy and charming woman who constantly assumed he was up to no good gave him one last prickling remark and he was already out of her sight. She was right, he was up to no good. He was now slowly walking through an empty room which clicked with every step of his. The room held a pristine beauty within its silence. Patches of golden light gently rested on the floor highlighting strands of his hair and making his pupil visible to one staring right into them. He stared at the ceiling, a commotion of colorful tulles and people were hovering over him. They were almost emerging out of the blue pastel sky behind them.

Being a French artist of the 18th century had its perks of course. The museum was open exclusively to artists for six days, followed by three days of public access and one final day for ‘repairs’ (James 2017). It was the tenth day, yet Étienne roamed around the castle. He did not seem fascinated by any of the pieces in the room as he had memorized them, drew them, and confessed his admiration repeatedly. He wanted to find something new, something he was missing, a detail or maybe comparing it to something that he had found already.

Guillaume made his presence known in the room, startling Étienne. His firm grip loosened in a matter of seconds with a small growl. His quick pull had also led him to almost shatter something from his pocket, something curious. Guillaume leaped for it and Étienne gave a smile. ‘Is this it, my friend?’. ‘Yes Guillaume, I’m hoping this can solve our small problem.’ The dust flew harmoniously in the bright patches showering in from the windows. It was still and calm. Étienne had his finger pressed against his lips to stop it from bleeding. ‘You know I didn’t mean to fright…’ ‘You can never be too careful nor quiet my friend. Shall we?’ Guillaume handed the mysterious object back to his friend with a sympathetic smile. Étienne winked and nodded as he made his way through a golden archway. ‘I always tend to mix whether it’s the Bellechose or the Fontainebleau’ he grinned with the confidence he placed in his artistry. Guillaume tilted his head, raising his eyebrows as if to say that was complete nonsense. ‘A little humor for the pain my cher Guillaume’ he said playfully. Étienne now tentatively opened a passageway through the portrait. They heard the scuffling about of an anxious Madame Allaire inquiring about the source of the noise in the room they left behind. She investigated the long corridor and danced sideways to get a better view of whether anyone was hiding behind the grand vases and sculptures, yet the scenery had not changed. It remained loyal to its disguise; quiet, warm and bright.

Through a cold and damp tunnel, Étienne and Guillaume pushed their way out to a small courtyard. A strategic location of course, even the aerial view of this space was nearly impossible to spot. They slowly ascended from the gray stones onto the hand-painted tiles and warm palettes of the secret garden. There were canvases, pigments and fountains inked with paint falling gently. Half-finished portraits resided in their place eager to be picked up again. It was as if the Louvre had not heard about this small courtyard within its core. You can amuse yourself with the sky, the birds and the wildflowers branching out for hours after hours. Étienne inhaled deeply, tasting the sweetness of the air. He ran his fingers on the canvas which nested the oil painting of pink peonies jumping out of their frame onto every crevice of Étienne’s fingerprint. ‘Guillaume…If this is to work, it will revolutionize our art. We’ve risked so much already…’ ‘My friend, the risk we take is only to cease the risk we fight.’ Étienne nodded knowingly and stared at the sky one last time. ‘Draw the curtains.’

Guillaume masked the opening of the courtyard with a deep blue velvet cloth with the pull of a rope. This was a calculated and rehearsed play. The peach light now resided on the velvet as it frantically searched for a way into the courtyard to meet the flowers. There was but one small tear in the cloth which let in a striking light. Étienne reached for his pocket once again and took out the prisme. He slowly made his way towards the frozen lighting and held out his hand. Guillaume held his breath with eyes wide open.

The room was now swimming in waves of color all across its four walls. Guillaume’s filled eyes let out a drop into this ocean. ‘Étienne…’ Étienne’s hand trembling he bit his lip and lowered his head.  ‘All the rivalry, the secretive carriages for our pigments, the rising fees of our supplies and the wandering eye of other artists… It is all but of the past dear Guillaume… We’ve done it.’ Guillaume scuffled around for a brush nesting by one of the canvases. Tripping and falling, his eyes couldn’t peel away from the prisme for a second, total fixation. ‘Now my friend.’ Guillaume dipped his brush into the colors reflecting off the prisme. A second later paint dripped onto the floors from the soft bristles. ‘Étienne my goodness…’ Étienne stood and watched as his friend created marvels on the walls, the canvases and the flowers. He painted the pink peonies blue with small animals tugging on its petals. The courtyard whispered the secrets of the violet hue they had never seen before and oozed with the bright oranges that extruded from the surfaces through its glow. Étienne could not help but laugh as tears fell down his cheeks. No words could convey what they felt in their hearts. Étienne lost count of hours, minutes, and seconds. His arm had been hovering in the air like a victorious statue, a Greek demi-god.

The scenery was pierced with an unprecedented light, suddenly and abruptly. ‘Étienne…’ a slow whisper echoed from Guillaume’s chest. Étienne took the prisme into his full grasp where light could no longer linger in it, make the acquaintance of saturated marvels or show resilience against the golden daylight. Guillaume stormed through the courtyard and pulled on the rope once again. The light started dancing and noise started to take over the silence of the courtyard. From the tunnel, unwelcome faces emerged, one of them was of course none other than Madame Allaire.

‘What on earth is this place and what are you both doing here?’ she said with anger and shock filling her lungs. Étienne and Guillaume felt their hands being seized by these strange people as they were dragged away from the courtyard. The men holding them pushed and tugged them as they forced them out of the tunnel. Guillaume caught Étienne’s eye and he had a mischievous side grin etched on his face. Guillaume’s eyes sparked with the same fire as they made their exit into the Louvre.

Madame Allaire looked around curiously and thought the courtyard a pleasant place. She was embarrassed by endearing this place to herself and quickly pressed the warm sentiment away into a corner of her mind. This was against protocol, artists in an unknown part of the Louvre on the tenth day was unacceptable. She turned her back onto the courtyard and noticed from the corner of her eye the beautiful painting of pink peonies, her favorite. It was just the elegant petals and soft pinks. It was a shame that it was not finished, she thought to herself and turned her back on the courtyard, this time to leave it be.

Night and Day came but they did not touch the colors of Étienne nor the drawings of Guillaume. The courtyard remained the same until an unfamiliar hand picked up the prisme and immersed the courtyard in darkness. Only then did she see Étienne and Guillaume’s work, only then was she introduced to the victory of the Courtyard of Light.

Project Type: Solo Project