Late 1800's, Early 1900's
Country of France
A story about what life was like to be an artist of paint on canvas. Players, friendship, love, selling pieces, fame, excitement, misfortune, perseverance, genius.
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
They arrive home in horse and buggy.
It is raining and the storm knocks out the lights in the street lamps and in the house.
Thunder and lighting.
He gets the umbrella out and escorts her inside.
He goes back to the buggy to get a few carring bags.
He lights up the house with candles.
She lights one up in the study and notices a painting she has never saw.
‘What is this about?’
He says nothing because he is thinking on what to say to her.
‘Why did you paint this?’
She ends up folding a blanket out flat on the floor.  ‘There’s your spot in my life.’
She goes inside the bedroom and he lays down on the floor with the painting.
‘This one is good.  I love it so very much.  So happy to have it.’
She hears him talking to himself.  She opens the door a little to listen to him.
‘Love is kind like the new day for the ones left behind that knew the newly departed, the sadness stale in the likes of a swamp if not the bald cypress.  Where light from the sun is of few, and the warm air begs for wind like the breath of my lungs must love my love greater today than yesterday, so easy I’m convinced, I would be king of her heart and soul to bring meat from a kill. The wool for her knits, so thick in layers on the go.  The soul begineth it’s travel. Upward to heaven for rest and peace.  Left behind his hard work he loved to keep me near when his daily work dues paid in full.  This I love about him the most, how he loved his son, he enjoyed it, selfishness was he with me.”
‘It’s not?  It is--?’
‘It’s not and it is.’  He laughs.  ‘Come to bed.’ He pats the floor beside him.
‘Tell me what it is.’
‘It’s my beauty.  But it was given to me through pain and sadness.  I don’t want you to be sad like that.’
‘But I have to.  You are my love.’
‘That is why my nerves are boiling.  The one feeling I can not stand I desire the most.’
‘What is it?  Is it not you and me?’
‘No.  Close.  But no.  This is my father.  This is me.  You are not here, yet.’
‘Oh, my dear.  I am sorry you know that.’
‘My nerves boil my love.’
‘Well, it is spooky.  You made it so spooky.’
The thunder bangs.
He holds a candle under her face.
‘Spooky like you.’
She moves it under his face.
‘You are.’
ACT ONE
SCENE TWO
One player rents a music studio so he can spend less money on rent.  He pretends to be a vocalist and piano player.  When he makes it to his room, he puts on a headset that blocks out all the noise from the rest of the instruments being played.  It is quiet so he can paint.
ACT ONE
 SCENE THREE
            Van Gogh is delivering a hand bag to a girlfriend of his at her place.  The keys to her door is inside the bag.  She left the bag at a library.  He is returning it.
            As he enters the lobby she is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.  He stops and stares.  He takes off his backpack and sits down at a table and chair and makes a sketch of her sitting there.  He puts it all back into his backpack and greets her.
            “Only my mother phones me there.”
            “I’m so sorry.  I can not believe I left my belongings behind.  What a burden I put on you.”
            “Your voice on the line.  I—”
            “Yours was very—”
            “For you miss.”
            “Thank you.  I do greatly apologize.  I am thankful.”  She reaches inside the bag for a few bills to pay him.  “For your troubles and kindness.”
            He foreshadows a sequence in his head, he puts the money in a cup by the front door as she is around the corner.  He gives it back to her.