Residency

I knew the art residency I had signed up for was going to be in a castle, but the pictures and description couldn’t have prepared me for the reality of it. We drove over a drawbridge; I couldn’t believe the place had a moat. Then we went through the tunnel in the stone wall around the base of the hill, then pulled up the winding drive. Once at the top we drove around the side of the castle and down a slope into an underground garage. The driver parked in one of the slots in a row occupied by matching unremarkable black cars. He got out and opened my door for me and helped me out. I was glad I had worn my gauzy dress; it was comfortable but also felt medieval and ethereal. It was an off-white color spaghetti strap with barely visible flowers all over it. It fell to my calves and was cinched around my waist loosely. I left my auburn hair down and my curls felt heavy on my bare shoulders.

“Madam,” the driver had my luggage out of the trunk and was waiting for me to follow him. I shook myself out of my thoughts and went along behind him through the garage and up a staircase to an opening. It led out to a courtyard where other people were standing around in small groups talking. They all eyed me as I walked by them, but I tried to keep my head down and avoid eye contact with any of them. The driver took me into a lobby where I was transferred from his responsibility to that of a bellhop of some sort. I got signed in at the desk and was led by another much younger man to an old-fashioned elevator that looked like a golden bird cage. It was terrifying but I didn’t speak as we creaked up all of the stories.

“You’re in the turret,” he said to me looking at the paper the receptionist had handed him.

“Okay,” I whispered, I was nervous and excited to be sure, I was excited mostly. I was very excited wasn’t I? This was a dream come true. He led me down a huge and expansive hall to the end where there was a door in the chamfer corner wall. He opened it and I gasped. The room was massive and round. I floated into the room on wings; I was only vaguely aware of the bellhop showing me around. The private bathroom with a giant tub right beside the window overlooking the forest. Then back to the room and through a small door behind the fireplace, up a stone spiral staircase and up to the top of the turret. The four turrets at the corners of the castle were taller than the rest of the walls. From mine, since no one was on the other three, I could see everything, but no one could see me.

From this vantage point I could see all around myself as I turned in every direction. The sun was shining but I could see dark clouds in the distance. Too far away to be a bother just yet. The north side of the castle overlooked a valley below. Many little houses littered the vast rolls of the greenest grass. Each was surrounded by a perfect little white square fence around their yards. Most had flowers of various colors lining the fences in the front yards. There was a patchwork of colors and patterns as I looked over it. Beyond that was at river, glistening in the sunlight taking my breath. The wind blew lightly, just enough to lift a lock of my hair to brush my cheek softly. It was a cool breeze but not frigid, the air was the right temperature for standing out on a turret. France this time of year was just on the cool side of summer heat.

The calling of several birds danced in the air around me, mixing with the smell of the flowers below. I walked to the edge and held to the stone ledge, then closed my eyes to take a deeper breath, to listen, to be present. Somehow to make myself believe that I was really standing where I stood. In a life of nothing but bad, could anything really be this good? I opened my eyes again and looked around, no angle was wrong for painting. I could bring my easel up here and stay for months and never run out of subjects. My specialty was landscapes and so far I’d had to dream them up from inside my small house with mother. We had no yard to speak of, not a good one anyway. The neighborhood was rotting and decrepit, so far all my paintings had come from my own imagination. But all that imagining couldn’t compare nor prepare me for something, some place, like this.

Everything was perfect, everything was lovely.

*You don’t belong* a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. It wasn’t at all unfamiliar. I had been hearing that same voice in my head and at home for my entire life. The doubt, the insecurity, projected, my mother. I brushed it off, she hadn’t stopped me from coming and she wasn’t going to ruin my time here. But the meaning of what the whisper had said sunk into my heart. This place was wonderful, all the bright smells and colors, I felt grey inside of it. Not one of those aesthetic greys either, not one of the old black and white films. Not a grey of romantic melancholy, a grey of blandness. I looked over the edge, it sure was a long way to the ground.