She’d gone to bed early, craving the encircling comfort of the great bed. It had worked its magic, and she’d slept dreamlessly and well: the untroubled rest from having worked hard, of having painted all day for the first time in years. She felt less trapped, less frustrated than in a long time, despite Richard Bourne’s evening intrusion and the disturbing wave of energy that had carried her through the whole episode. But that Monday morning, as soon as it was light enough to see the canvas, anger filled her. The painting was ruined, now that he had seen it. The figure in the painting was supposed to be just a prop, a foil, to focus attention on the rose. Now when she looked at the canvas, she could only see herself, centerd in that world, and the rose, offset and almost peripheral in comparison, bowing to her, giving up its yellow light to her face and fingers. She had seen his reaction to her painting: as an object of power, not some art gallery product.
What do You think about A Matter Of Marriage (2014)?
