for the wife, and then I want to get a repair done to the drop door on the wagon in back. Damn thing catches on me all of the time, and I can’t get it to open. Pretty unhandy when you are trying to unload things.”
Gastien laughed. “ Oui , I bet! I would hate to be handling crates of vegetables and not be able to pull them straight out and down.”
They rode in silence for awhile. Finally Matt broke the lull. “Gastien, your father has a damn successful farm, for a peasant. Care to tell me what has you so on fire that you would leave? After all, you are the eldest.”
“Well, Matt, I not only have no interest in farming, I actually hate everything about it. Don’t get me wrong. I know my father has done a good job. I have seen how poor most farmers are, how shabby they live.” As soon as he said it, Gastien was sorry. Matt and his family barely made ends meet. That was apparent by the shabbiness of the family’s clothes and the condition of their wagon. “I am sorry, Matt, I meant no disrespect. I did not mean you,” Gastien said quickly, as his face burned.
Matt smiled sadly and looked Gastien in the eyes. “It is ok, Son. There is no shame in being poor if you are giving everything you have to what you love doing. I am well aware that we are barely making it. Most farmers are in my shoes. That is why it puzzles me that you would want to leave a farm that is far more successful than any other around the area.”
Gastien took a deep breath. He hoped Matt would not be another one to think a man feminine and foolish for wanting to paint. “Well, you might laugh…but as far back as I can remember I have wanted to paint. I have drawn probably since I could walk! Once Mother gave me some watercolour paints that is all I wanted to do. I could not get enough of painting, although I had to hide what I was doing. I kept my paints in a secret spot in the woods.” Gastien stopped and glanced at Matt to see his reaction.
Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I laugh at that? If that is in your heart, then I guess it is what you are supposed to do. Good artists are highly valued in Paris. I can’t understand it, because I have no artistic talent, but if that is what God gave you, it is good you are pursuing it. Although, I have to say, you are taking quite a risk. You could have a decent, if hard, living on that farm. Painting is risky at best. Most don’t make it and end up starving in the streets, from what I hear. Are you sure you are great? “Good” is not enough, I don’t think.”
Gastien hesitated. “I don’t know it for a fact. Not yet. I have no training and have had limited access to paints. But, when a brush is in my hand I seem to work magic with it. I dream of paintings that I want to do. I always have. It just comes out of me without much thought for technique. I have only had watercolours, but I want to work in oils. I will need to watch other artists of oils and pick up technique that way.” He stopped. “I know that sounds dumb. Like a wild dream. But I can think of no other way. I worked very hard for the last two years at something I hated to please my father, so that I could go to art school. I had hoped that, once I proved myself, my father would help with money for a room. I would have worked to get through school somehow. Many do that. Unfortunately, he would not help me. I knew if I stayed much longer, I would lose my dream and live a life of regret until the day I died. I could not let it eat away my soul.”
Matt smiled. “That is pretty dramatic, Gastien. Jean is a reasonable man. I am sure you could have worked something out. How hard did you really try?”
Quietly, Gastien removed his coat and, turning his back to Matt, lifted his shirt. Matt gasped when he saw the many scars across Gastien’s back. “ Mon Dieu ! Who did that to you, Son?”
“My father, Matt. You are looking at the artwork of Jean Beauchamp,” Gastien said simply.
“But that can’t be! Jean is
Gastien laughed. “ Oui , I bet! I would hate to be handling crates of vegetables and not be able to pull them straight out and down.”
They rode in silence for awhile. Finally Matt broke the lull. “Gastien, your father has a damn successful farm, for a peasant. Care to tell me what has you so on fire that you would leave? After all, you are the eldest.”
“Well, Matt, I not only have no interest in farming, I actually hate everything about it. Don’t get me wrong. I know my father has done a good job. I have seen how poor most farmers are, how shabby they live.” As soon as he said it, Gastien was sorry. Matt and his family barely made ends meet. That was apparent by the shabbiness of the family’s clothes and the condition of their wagon. “I am sorry, Matt, I meant no disrespect. I did not mean you,” Gastien said quickly, as his face burned.
Matt smiled sadly and looked Gastien in the eyes. “It is ok, Son. There is no shame in being poor if you are giving everything you have to what you love doing. I am well aware that we are barely making it. Most farmers are in my shoes. That is why it puzzles me that you would want to leave a farm that is far more successful than any other around the area.”
Gastien took a deep breath. He hoped Matt would not be another one to think a man feminine and foolish for wanting to paint. “Well, you might laugh…but as far back as I can remember I have wanted to paint. I have drawn probably since I could walk! Once Mother gave me some watercolour paints that is all I wanted to do. I could not get enough of painting, although I had to hide what I was doing. I kept my paints in a secret spot in the woods.” Gastien stopped and glanced at Matt to see his reaction.
Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I laugh at that? If that is in your heart, then I guess it is what you are supposed to do. Good artists are highly valued in Paris. I can’t understand it, because I have no artistic talent, but if that is what God gave you, it is good you are pursuing it. Although, I have to say, you are taking quite a risk. You could have a decent, if hard, living on that farm. Painting is risky at best. Most don’t make it and end up starving in the streets, from what I hear. Are you sure you are great? “Good” is not enough, I don’t think.”
Gastien hesitated. “I don’t know it for a fact. Not yet. I have no training and have had limited access to paints. But, when a brush is in my hand I seem to work magic with it. I dream of paintings that I want to do. I always have. It just comes out of me without much thought for technique. I have only had watercolours, but I want to work in oils. I will need to watch other artists of oils and pick up technique that way.” He stopped. “I know that sounds dumb. Like a wild dream. But I can think of no other way. I worked very hard for the last two years at something I hated to please my father, so that I could go to art school. I had hoped that, once I proved myself, my father would help with money for a room. I would have worked to get through school somehow. Many do that. Unfortunately, he would not help me. I knew if I stayed much longer, I would lose my dream and live a life of regret until the day I died. I could not let it eat away my soul.”
Matt smiled. “That is pretty dramatic, Gastien. Jean is a reasonable man. I am sure you could have worked something out. How hard did you really try?”
Quietly, Gastien removed his coat and, turning his back to Matt, lifted his shirt. Matt gasped when he saw the many scars across Gastien’s back. “ Mon Dieu ! Who did that to you, Son?”
“My father, Matt. You are looking at the artwork of Jean Beauchamp,” Gastien said simply.
“But that can’t be! Jean is
Similar Books
