Sir Jaikob van Compen; Dutch Artist, Architect, Romantic. Circa 1648.
I am deeply disturbed by my lack of inspiration as of late. Indeed, my brushes and pencils which once brought me such a sweet-as-sugar sense of peace and joy now bring me a piercing sense of anxiety and sorrow, like a glass shard to the heart. Staring blank canvas, I am overcome with a longing to morph them into something real and alive! Yet, if nothing comes from nothing, than nothing I must be. For this artistic dry spell of mine shall surely be the death of me.
I have been commissioned to provide glorious paintings for the great orange hall that I helped design; indeed, the beauty and craftsmanship of the hall’s interior is deserving of nothing less than most beautiful and technically proficient works of the visual arts! Why can I not concentrate? Why can I not create? My god, surely I am not this worthless!
Constance, my beloved wife, touches me on the shoulder as I wander the currently empty corridors of the orange hall. Her touch has such a therapeutic affect upon me; for but a moment, everything I was worrying over seemed to be trivial as her presence graces me. I turn to look at her in the eyes. Those eyes. Those powerful, deep eyes. Those glass eyes.
I gaze into those eyes for what seems like an eternity, as tears flow from my own. You see, my beloved Constance has been deceased for over a year. She was the reason I created art. She was the joy that kept me inspired. And now, she was gone. So why, you may wonder, do I see her now?
As I process deep within my mind what I am seeing, I suddenly refocus my vision and snap back to reality. I am standing alone in the ballroom. It hasbecome dark outside, and without the inner torches lit, I find myself enveloped in a very eerie darkness.
Had I seen a ghost? My love for Constance was as sweet as sugar, yet remembering her pierced my heart like glass shards. And now, convinced that I had somehow felt her touch and gazed into here eyes here in the ballroom of the orange hall, I felt both that glassy pain and that sugary sweetness simultaneously. Exhausted and confused, I collapse onto the marble floors of ORANJEZAAL and drift off into an oddly deep sense of sleep…