“There’s something to this painting,” the Ephor replied, without much enthusiasm. “As for perceiving the world, people are incapable of seeing the truth, no matter how hard they try.”
Libby looked at Sophia in surprise and rolled her eyes.
“They are the truth, Sophia. Their passion for life is proof of that, don’t you think?”
“Passion—” the Ephor pronounced the word almost with disgust. “What is passion, anyway? Just banal animal instincts, nothing more.”
“Everything is passion on a mental level, just as everything is art. You can find pleasure in creation and even greater ecstasy when your work is accepted and appreciated. The eroticism between people is simple and clear. But what you feel from creativity is something more.”
“His state is borderline. In his creative fervor, Van is mad,” Sophia replied, not turning her head toward her companion.
“But he’s mad just enough to return. Yes, within him lives that dark matter that envelops him, merging with him into a whole and forming what everyone sees – the artist.”
Sophia turned to Libby. Before her stood someone far from the carefree, rosy-cheeked giggler she had imagined. She had become no less mad than her protégé. A sinister smile mixed with pleasure lingered on her once-adorable face as she eagerly examined the painting.
“By granting Constantin a passion for art, is she robbing him of the possibility of balance?”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Constantin tapped his glass of whiskey with a glass straw and jumped onto the pedestal, interrupting Sophia’s thoughts. He had no shortage of agility. “I want to thank you all once again for coming today. It means a lot to me to share my work with you. Because what’s the point of drawings if they’re gathering dust in an abandoned factory?”
People applauded appreciatively. Some whistled, while others laughed.
“I certainly hope you’ll look at all the paintings and choose your favorite. But let me begin the presentation with a piece that came to me randomly one night. Therefore, it simply must be first, as the sunset’s orange light filters into the studio.”
Constantin pointed to the very painting of the twins.
The crowd began to chatter and moved closer to the artwork. The Guides also fell silent, contemplating.
“When I was painting this piece,” Van started the backstory, “I initially struggled to reflect an important detail, in my opinion. Under the night’s lamp light, the skin of our heroines shimmered white. Their light hair was also easy to see. But it was only with the arrival of dawn that the truth revealed itself in their gaze.”