Still Life

by Sarah Winman

Dedication For Mum For Patsy For Stella Rudolph (1942-2020) Epigraph

‘One of the primary objects of the enlightened traveller in Italy is usually to form some acquaintance with its treasures of art. Even those whose usual avocations are of the most prosaic nature unconsciously become admirers of poetry and art in Italy. The traveller here finds them so interwoven with scenes of everyday life, that he encounters their influence at every step, and involuntarily becomes susceptible to their power.’

Of course, she’d kept the bloody violet.

Once is enough. We just need to know what the heart’s capable of, Evelyn.

More important than people?

Don't have to appreciate art to ask the right questions!

It’s what we’ve always done. Left a mark on a cave, or on a page. Showing who we are, sharing our view of the world, the life we’re made to bear. Our turmoil is revealed in those painted faces

:)

Beautiful art opens our eyes to the beauty of the world, Ulysses. It repositions our sight and judgement.

Art versus humanity is not the question, Ulysses. One doesn’t exist without the other. Art is the antidote. Is that enough to make it important? Well yes, I think it is.

I’m not sure I can say goodbye to you, young man. Then let’s not, Evelyn.

The canal drew the lonely and the dreamers, and in that moment she was both.

The explosion of energy from that time destroyed myths and superstitions and revealed the heavens just as they were. Subject to decay and mutability. Just like us.

Sometimes she felt like dying but who wants to hear that?

People would have felt more sorry for him had she died, and he would have liked to have had that – a bit more sorry.

She was an upriver swimmer, struggling against a contemptible tide, but by God she tried.

the world never turned out the way you wanted it to. It simply turned. And you hung on.

This was his world now. Somewhere between an atom and a star was this.

Those who’d cheered him on months before soon succumbed to derision. Human nature, right?

She stood up, marched over to him and held his hand. Her exquisite moment of ownership. The day when he became hers.

And all the time war was eavesdropping

She’d have done anything to have had a mum like Nora. Nora was all soft angles and kindness. Peg could be kind, but there wasn’t enough of it to be a regular thing with her. It was like her wage. Always ran out by Thursday.

Did I change my life sufficiently to reflect the kindness you showed me that strange afternoon in August? I don’t know. I hope so. In my small way I think maybe I did. No single act of generosity remains in isolation. The ripples are many.

Loving Ginny was easy. Loving Ginny was easier than loving her own kid.

Gwyneth.

Alphabetical order!!!!!

There are moments in life, so monumental and still, that the memory can never be retrieved without a catch to the throat or an interruption to the beat of the heart. Can never be retrieved without the rumbling disquiet of how close that moment came to not having happened at all.

And when Cressy appeared in the rear-view mirror, that was one such moment for Ulysses. He stepped on the brake and flung open the door. Cressy! he shouted. Cressy! shouted kid. Cressy running towards them with his suitcases, desert shorts flapping. Wait! he was shouting. Wait! I changed my mind!

Those two words had confused Cress because not much love had ever come his way. The deep satisfaction of hearing those words, mixed with the sorrow of never having heard them before made for an uncomfortable alliance, and prompted him to say, Nothing’s forever – a trite and clichéd response to a young man’s declaration of care.

And then Ulysses said it. Come with me, Cress. I’m too old, said Cress. Too much love for one day. I’m too old. End of.

Too old? said the cherry tree. That’s a bit ripe. One of my ancestors is more than a thousand years old and they’re still up for stuff. Your idea of time is obtuse. You reckon? said Cress. Just saying.

Tree said, Thanks for everything. It’s been nice knowing you. You too, said Cress. Will you be OK? I’m a tree. I’ve done this a thousand times before. Done what? Goodbyes. Really? Think about it. Leaves

Cress took the left-hand side of the bed and settled down. When I was a kid, he said, I used to lie like this and think there was a world out there. And now I’m in it, Temps. Feels good, right? Feels like nothing else. Early start tomorrow, Cress. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.

And they’d come to rely on one another because they were all they had.

That ‘even those whose usual avocations are of the most prosaic nature unconsciously become admirers of poetry and art in Italy’. Would that be so bad? To become an admirer of poetry and art? Until we figure it all out. It wouldn’t, Cress.

Sunlight dazzled, casting rays onto the pale cream stucco of the church. The sky was blue, the roofs were red, the trees green. For years they’d moved about in a palette of grey and deprivation. And now this …

If there’s a God – and I’m by no means suggesting there is – I thought that was a bit heavy-handed.

Because it’s better than the truth.

All she kept thinking about was the girl in the playground who didn’t have any shoes. So, Alys told her she didn’t have a mother. What’s the difference? Shoes or a mother, lack is lack and it hurts.

These things are the sum of her life now. And she will grow up and leave, he thought. And she will make her way and not cast her thoughts back to him. Life in all its exaltation and complexity will devour her. She will love deeply to the exclusion of all else. And he wants to know everything about her before that happens, but wonders if you can ever know anyone truly.

Cress stands in front of the mirror in his vest and shorts and repeats over and over, I am vital.

And in her ears came a roaring sound like waves. Cress handed her a glass of bubbles. She drank it in one and the sound disappeared.

She leant down towards the grave. Make it snow, Arturo. Make it snow for this boy here.

The time he learnt that she too had dreams. Hard to reconcile that pain. Has taken a lifetime and still not there yet.

Kid would always be looking for that smile in women.

Children aren't just reminders of a time you spent with your speci someone, Peg. They are actual human beings too, made of flesh and blood and sweat.

He never wanted to lose this friend and yet there were things still to be said. They could wait another day. Another year, even. And Pete

Noooooooooo :(

One finds oneself abruptly in front of a moment of ecstasy. This is where art is effective. Art captures permanently

Final thoughts on love, ultimately: ‘I shall remain astonished.’

an addendum of promises, made for a lifetime but meant only for a night.

Adventure, the best medicine.

Ate one straight away in the doorway of a workshop where she watched a man carving out the body of a violin.

You never were a child, were you, Lynny?

For an hour Evelyn watched the linen curtains billow and fall and matched her breathing to the pulse of fabric.