And here I am, going back to my figure of the Berceuse for the 5th time. And when you see it you’ll agree with me that it’s nothing but a chromolithograph from a penny bazaar, and what’s more, it doesn’t even have the merit of being photographically correct in the proportions or in anything. But anyway, I’m trying to make an image such as a sailor who couldn’t paint would imagine it when he was in the middle of the sea and thought of a woman on land.
Tag: Augustine Roulin
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ResetYesterday Roulin left. It was touching to see him with his children on the last day, above all with the very little one when he made her laugh and bounce on his knees and sang for her. His voice had a strangely pure, moved timbre which to my ear contained a sweet, distressed wet-nurse’s song and something like a distant echo of the clarion of revolutionary France. He wasn’t sad, though, on the contrary, he had put on his brand-new uniform, which he’d received the same day, and everyone was making much of him.
Perhaps in the Berceuse there’s an attempt at a little music of color from here, it’s badly painted, and chromos bought at the penny bazaar are infinitely better painted technically, but all the same.