The Cypress Tree and the Night’s sky

Before work every morning I rise and paint the city and nearby surroundings. Most mornings, I don't get to finish because I have to hurry off to work and meet the demands of daily life. However, I cannot sleep when the sun rises. The sun creeps into my window every morning, and like a warm friend reminds me of the day's immediate demands. This is even with a cloth over my window. With my mind hazes, I take off the window covering and am nearly blinded by the glaze of our galaxy's only star. It appears completely red most mornings and covers the sky briefly with a yellow tint like my skin.

My room on the fourth floor has the best view of the city at nighttime and was close to the Cypress tree. I gladly leased it when I saw it was available. However, it was slightly more expensive than the others. Most mornings, I am too tired to paint, but the busyness of my day commands that I do it at sunset. The colors I bought before moving to town are brighter, albeit more expensive than before and they hurt the cuts on my hand. My hand has nearly doubled in size because of the swelling of the paints. However, it does not imply much with my daily demands.

Painting still exhausts me physically and mentally and takes my full concentration. Most mornings, I feel too tired to paint, weak but obligated because it is the only time of day that allows me such freedom. I can feel the tension in my shoulders and the artist in my hands, and this tells me that it is time to say goodbye to the day's dawn.

I wanted to practice drawing the nearby cypress at my window's edge. The large cypress tree is often a place for socializing during the evenings and weekends. I envy that tree most nights. How tall, brown, and beautiful. How majestic it is in the surroundings. It is loved and admired by all that live in the town. Even the nearby wildlife come for a gaze. How long it has been around and how long it will continue to exist.

During the sunrise, I feel like the tree is the center of gravity like all of the nights leftover sky and newly ushered in the sun just bends to its branches and paints towards its admiration. The local folk say that the Cypress tree has been around longer than the town itself and is wiser than all of the town's residences. How it sees, how it knows how to exist and thrive better than the very humans nearby.

Aside from the tree, my window has a sparkling view of the nearby mountain range. These mountains are a place where many couples hike and play on the weekends. They are low in altitude but the mountain range has a great span. They are also full of wildlife, and magnificent scenery has to make them a perfect weekend getaway. I have wanted to camp in these mountains since I arrived in the town; however, I have no one to go with me. The mountains protect the city nearby from the wind and make the town a perfect valley. However, the Cypress tree remains a high point in the city.

Last night I was drinking in my room. The town's win is the best point of its nightlife and the only way you can enjoy the town's life. Many nights people drink till almost dawn before they go to bed. A local winery nearby keeps the town supplied with wine and gives me a reason to stay longer. The wine orchard nearby has some of the best grapes in France, and it often retains workers with the payment of a drunken liver. They don't seem to mind, and I am glad they are drunk with their work.

The town has a particular French dialect unique to southern France. A dialect that I have started to pick up. It is if I am learning French again. For the first time in this town, I am trying to be me, not the idea of me. This is something the Cypress tree has taught me. However, nobody paints in the town but me.

I buy a fresh bottle of wine every day after work that I drink with dinner before going to bed. And most weekends I sell the bottles to pay for more wine that next weekend. An interesting cycle! I don't live to drink wine; I drink wine to live. Without a nightly bottle, I might not wake up the next day. It is better to show up to work a little hungover than not to show up at all. At least if I show up late, I can make enough money to buy more win for that day!

When you extract all from a human, what you are left with is the most beautiful part. When you remove all from the night or sunrise, what you are left with is the most beautiful part of the night. Just the night's stars and black sky before dawn. A black sky that encompasses the Cypress tree and shows all of its angles. The stars serve to highlight the outer edges of the tree.

I hope somebody in the city will buy all of my paintings of the Cypress tree. Maybe hang it over their fireplace and admire it at dinner. Admire how it looks like a glimpse out of their window and how they can be with the beautiful tree whenever they want. I thought about keeping it in my room. However, my room already has the same beautiful view. Others will enjoy the view from my window.

The canvass is very expensive; however, it is a necessary cost of my hubby. It is as essential as the paint itself. I prefer a canvas that is a dull white like they have been sold new but used for previous ideas. They are already veterans in painting and only serve to assist my craft. I bet that the Cypress tree would make a great canvas paper.

I never think about painting the sunrise when I wake up; I just do it. It's almost reflexive at this point, I have done it nearly every morning for the past month. How the sunlight moves into my room and causes the roaches to scatter into their corners. I would not know their existence or whereabouts had it not been for the light of darkness or rather the light that comes to the end of darkness. I am never afraid of them. I have mercy on them and admire the speed at which they can escape the light. They may be the only thing faster than the constant speed of light. The constant speed of life rather. It may be the second thing faster than light; the way darkness and points of light that highlight it illuminates on my canvas.

Many nights in my dreams, I am playing in the mountains. Many of the activities in those dreams are not suitable for polite conversation. However, they are perfect for my dreams.

First, I sketch the night and cypress tree on my sketch pad to get a rough sketch for painting. Many times, my rough sketch serves as my memory for continuing the painting. I hang all of my old drawings in my room to see how the night evolves . Some mornings the night and dawn have a different character than yesterday. It appeared as if it had its own dreams while the village slept. I block out the integrity of all of last night's sky as I paint. The Cypress tree's character remains the same in each sketch.

With my eyes half open I paint the sunrise every morning. Some nights I dream about it instead of dancing in the night's sky or signing to the cypress tree. I wish I knew what happened at night. What the orchid tree did and what the night's sky looked like when I dreamed. I dream of the starry night together with the most beautiful orchid tree. Nothing can make the beautiful night's sky look bad but the beautiful orchid tree.

The dogs that bark nearby every dawn serve to remind their owners to feed them. I wish the owners would just muzzle the dogs or feed them rather. Sometimes I will yell at the dogs. However, they only respond to their owners. All dogs have their owners. Often me and them are the only living things up as I paint the fading night's sky. The night's sky touches me, and I touch the canvas.

The wine and bread that I eat for dinner makes me fat most nights, but I am too lazy to exercise. With just enough energy to draw the day's dawn and reflection, it casts on the cypress tree. Most of my best paintings don't come after a good night's rest but rather a good night's drinking and dreaming. However, I will soon get out of this town and asylum and head into the city to see my brother. Where the wine is even better.

In the process of painting the Cypress tree and the mountain, I painted the starry night. Despite many versions of the dawn's sky, this version is by far the most illuminated. Where the life of the end of the tree, the story night begins. So the night ends with the canvas.

In my latest painting, the Cypress tree is most prominent, with the stars glittering or illuminating to expose the city and mountain tops. I think it may fetch more than the other paintings because of how bright the colors are on the canvas. The oiled paint really seems to resonate on this type of canvas.

Even if nobody buys my painting, which is my expectation, I will keep it as a memory of my time in the asylum. A memory of my time in this town. A reminder for how well I have sharpened my skills at drawing landscapes and sunsets. The night sky at sunset is always the easiest part to draw or paint; it illuminates itself on the canvas and covers the empty canvas white faster than anything. It is mainly a contrast of colors.

I will draw another sunrise tomorrow, maybe this time it will be best of all. My starry night, my Cypress tree….