There was something so different about the meadow at night. All the colours of the sky, and the grass, and the sporadic wild flowers submitted to the persistent blanket of dark, inky blueness. It was a curious thing, the blueness. The sky at night was not blue, instead it hung above in total blackness. There was nothing to cast any light. So why was there blueness? Where did it come from? The blue was so dark that sometimes I wondered if it was indeed just blackness… but then, you wouldn't be able to see anything against the black sky would you? No. It was definitely a dark, inky blue that painted everything. Like someone had placed a coloured shroud over your eyes. I wondered if I looked blue here too.
I almost didn't see The Artist as I glided through the meadow. Eventually I spotted him, a soft light blue glow against the rest of the darker hue. I wondered idly if he was the one casting the blueness. He was lying flat on his back, in the exact center of the meadow, staring up into the empty sky. I tried to follow his gaze up, to find what he was staring at so raptly, but I could find no point of interest up above… Just more black.
"No, no. That's not true at all!" the Artist proclaimed suddenly. He turned his head to me and smiled. "You're just not seeing properly. It's obvious, really." I blinked at him in silent confusion. How could I not be seeing properly? There was nothing to see!
"There is so much to see", he said dreamily, relaxing back onto the grass and staring upwards once more. "Here, lie with me." The Artist stretched his hand up above his head, eagerly offering it to me. I took it hesitantly, and allowed him to pull me down into the grass beside him. There we sat for several long moments, him gazing upward, and me glancing bemusingly at him from the side.
"You know when you've been outside on an impossibly sunny day for hours and you first step into the house with all the lights turned off?" the Artist started abruptly, never taking his eyes off of the blank sky. Despite the fact that he wasn't looking at me I shook my head in confusion. What was he talking about?
The Artist smiled with a kind of amused understanding before continuing on. "When you first step into the house, you can't see a thing because your eyes have become so used to the brightness that everything else looks impossibly dark in comparison." He gestured up at the black sky as I felt the tiniest inkling of understanding seep into me. "Well that's what this is like…"
He smiled with wonder before abruptly frowning in confusion. "Actually this isn't like that at all, forget I said that." I felt the confusion returning as I looked at this funny little man staring up into the nothingness. He sighed a little, contented sigh. "Look up."
Still not fully understanding why, I allowed my eyes to follow his up into the sheet of total darkness. "You see the blackness? It's so impossibly dark isn't it? It seems almost too dark to just be black, doesn't it? It's somehow more than that and less than that at the same time." He stretched his hands up into the sky, gesturing with every word. "But you're wrong. There's brightness up there too, it's just a little harder to notice."
I blinked, trying to see anything other than the darkness. "Do you see it?" he prompted, "Right…. there!" He pointed enthusiastically at a point in the middle of the sky. "You see that bit in between the blackness? It's not exactly brightness, but it's not darkness either." My eyes widened. "But the longer to stare at it, the more obvious the contrast becomes. The black fades away, softens into the beginnings of light. White light…. It's very clear now, isn't it? A star, twinkling with bright, blazing white light." I gazed at it with shock and wonder. How had I not noticed it before? It was the most obvious thing in the world. A single pinprick within an endless field of black.
The Artist jolted upwards with a start, leaping to his feet with no warning. I picked myself off the ground in a slower fashion as I watched him dash further down the meadow. And then he stopped just as abruptly as he had started in front of a tall easel and canvas. I plodded my way over to him as he rummaged distractedly in his pockets, finally managing to pull out a handful of paintbrushes.
He selected one, snatching it from the pile, and began his work. A shade of bluish blackness blossomed onto the canvas from his brush, each stroke blanketing the surface with more and more darkness until it seemed to be itself, a part of the sky above. The Artist grinned in satisfaction down at his canvas, pausing to contemplate for a moment before setting his brush to the page again.
This time he painted the surface with more precision, dotting it with tiny little splashes of brilliant white against the darker shades. I stared at them, mesmerised by the brightness of those tiny little points. Why was he painting so many stars when there was only one, I wondered absently. He filled the sky with twinkling lights and I found myself wishing the real sky looked like that. The Artist laughed. "Look up", he urged.
The sight was stunning. Hundreds, thousands, millions of stars hung above my head in a sheet of breathtaking beauty. I stared. Unable to look away.
"You missed one." came a sharp voice from behind me.
"What? No I didn't!" the Artist snapped, spinning himself to face the tall red-headed woman crossing her arms indignantly.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah you did! Right there!" She pointed straight up into the sky. "See? No Rigel."
The Artist huffed, turning back to scrutinise his painting. "Ridiculous, I would never miss something so-" he stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at a spot on his painting. "Yes well that's an easy mistake to make, anyone could do it." he blustered, waving his arms about haughtily. "How did you even know where it was?"
The Memory smirked "It's in Orion's constellation."
"Oh, yes" the Artist sighed as he hastily added the missing star. "The Roman."
"Are you having fun without me?" a teasing voice rose over the hill. I blinked in surprise as a bizarrely dressed Memory strode towards us. He was in a brilliant red and gold suit of armour, a gleaming sword attached to his hip.
The red-headed Memory gave him an innocent smile. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Pond."
"Oh you're here!" the Artist exclaimed, poking up his head excitedly. "What took you so long?"
The Memory rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. "I hope he hasn't confused you too much." he teased me. I looked back at him, unsure how to respond.
The Artist poked his head up again. "What's that supposed to mean!"
The Memory leaned in conspiratorially. "Did he say the thing about staring into the sun?" The red-headed Memory giggled at that. "Yeah I don't get it either. Better to just smile and nod." I smiled at that, twitching in amusement as I turned back to watch the Artist's frantic painting. The artwork now had two figures in it, the Memory with the red hair, and the soldier. And…. something else too. I hadn't noticed it at first, but there was definitely a third figure there. I stared hard, trying to identify any solid features, and I found that I couldn't.
"It's you." I looked up, startled to see that the Artist was no longer painting. Instead he was looking at me. "Can you feel it?" he prompted. "Can you feel yourself growing into existence?" I shook my head unconsciously. How could I possibly answer that? How would I even know what existence felt like if I had it?
The Artist gave me a full smile, gently pulling me closer to the canvas. "Here," he said as he placed the paintbrush in my hand. "Just think. Think of what it is that fills you up on the inside. What is the essential thing deep inside you that makes you, you? And then just… let it flow through the page."
I don't know exactly how I did it. What it was that I pulled from as I painted stroke after stroke. And yet something was there. Something inside me that moved the brush. I felt a great, unrestrained rush of joy fill me. Dancing through me and into the artwork. The sheer intensity of it stunned me, rooted me to the spot. Where had that come from? How could there even be so much joy stored inside one person?
The Artist let out a thrilled laugh as he gazed at the canvas. "There is joy in everything." he responded. "In every person, and painting, and sky, and star. You just have to look hard enough to find it."
We gazed up into the stars.