I paint them in light: About love and loneliness

 

The single sketch.

"Los Pintas en Luz - Tarde" (You paint them in light - Noon)

I think I've always suffered because of my own melancholy, ever since I was a child I have known the feeling of heartbreak in the name of the smallest of things, I ached for the food I ate because I imagined it being sad for being eaten; love would prove to not be different, this illustration (that was supposed to be part of a tryptic) is a perfect example.

"You paint them in light" would consist of a series of three paintings with a more personal subject than what I'm used to, the three people I have fallen in love with, the image you see being a far fetched and heavily fictionalized portrait of my first love at the exact moment I knew I was in love with her: Around five, surrounded by the majestic lighting of the golden hour.

I can remember the exact feeling seeing her image caused in me, it was imposing, but in the unique and lovely way beauty can impose; with kindness, with euphoria and also... with doom. For me, falling in love has always arrived with a certain challenge, because in the three times I have loved I have not told a single word, that was the reason the tryptic remains unfinished to this date.

Noon.

Loving Noon was a bliss, despite not being able to tell her that I loved her I felt happy by the mere thought of being there. My self from that time is what I would describe the perfect way of loving in silence: selflessly, with joy despite the struggle and wholeheartedly. Of course I felt frustrated when I saw her starting to fall in love with someone else, but would you believe me when I tell you that even then my happiness overcame the jealousy? The way her mind works amazes me to this very day and sitting there, by her side, was the thing that fed me with will to live and listen, listen to her and listen to the whole world because that woman made me believe that beauty hid in every person, in every story.

My days with her made me fall in love with life, with people and fall in love again with art. I still believe Noon is one of the best people to touch my life, and I am forever grateful for the man she helped me become. Over the years that love faded against the impossibility of holding it without turning into a grudge, so I swiftly let go to be surprised by another discovery: love transforms if you let it and not cling into the idea of how it's supposed to make you feel; and Noon hopped from being a muse to a soulmate, one I love to this day and age as if she was my kin.

Night.

Night came abruptly and inconsistently, if Noon had built a door Night knocked it gently but ended up destroying it. In my teenage years I was a blank page when it came to my sexuality, Noon painted a sketch in it but it was mild, after all I had never fell in love with a woman or felt attraction towards one before her; my only hope was for that sketch to over time become a blueprint for what was to come, a guide which I could recurr to when contemplating who could I love next.

But I met him.

I met Night while I was still in love with Noon, he became my confidant alongside anyone who would listen to my rambling poetry about her, and while that affection transformed, the years went by and my friendship with Night became deeper and deeper in such an unnoticable manner that when I realized my affections started shifting it was already too late and too tragic.

As his nickname suggest I came to realize it when he was struck by the bright moonlight, which colored his dark hair into a greyish river as he looked down and I smiled only to shut my expression quickly; beauty, for the first time, did not feel inviting, it felt cold and scary... Because as soon as my second love started I knew it was a mistake, and for the next year I would start to try and rip the guts out of it, desperation settled in, for he liked girls and I wasn't one.

"I love you" I told him once, just in a fashion Noon had accustomed me to use, the love one never says enough, the love of a friend. He said it back. Every step I took as a way to sort things out and get an answer, he would bounce back and leave more questions than what I had before; it would keep me hopeful and hopeless, day to day, and despite knowing it could never happen a part of me felt that maybe over time, he would give me a chance. We hugged, he kissed my forehead, he held my hand when we dapped up for a little longer... But he would also kiss a girl, hug her, fuck her; things I felt so miserable about because even if he and I were together (in the wildest of dreams) I would not be able to give him whan she did, I wasn't made for passionate love, my love was slow, word driven and queer; we were worlds appart and yet the small gaps we made to connect us felt enough to feed all of my fantasies. It was like killing a beast only for it to come back to life, my shots were drastic and unstoppable, yet I never reached its core and I feel it chasing me even after trying to move on.

Move on with Dim.

Dim.

Dim came in a time where I needed to escape from the me who holded an uncanny possibility, one where I was queer or gay or who knows what. I met her casually under a roof of weak lights that covered the strength of the spring sun, a funny meet cute of instant click thanks to some mutual friends, I got to know her wit, beauty and intelligence in a matter of hours, a personality that captured me in an instant and filled my thoughts with excitement of seeing her again. Beauty, once again, felt warm and joyful; I became eager for our next encounter, but her visits were rare and the foundation for my slow and tacky feelings became fragile as the months went on.

"It is her or go back" I repeated to myself as soon as Night's kindness pushed me into a state of panic, Dim was a nice love I was deseperate of feeling to escape another love that was slowly becoming into sadness, fear and anger. My affection gave me a hand aswell as the spring break, since as I spended more time with her the future became brighter and my second love started becoming more like a quirky memory.