Josephine

A Story by bluesaturn

Josephine can't draw. That's what she always says at least. Looking at her painting, she might be right. Even so, after I heard her explanation I think it's beautiful. [Translation of my own work]

It smells like paint in Josephine's room.
Everywhere on the desk there are lying small tubes. Acrylic paint. Blue, red, green, violet - there are countless colours lying there. Josephine is standing at the window, a small canvas before her. I find that strange, because Josephine otherwise never paints. Other creative things, like photography or crafting, those she likes to do. But she doesn't have a talent for drawing, is what she always said. Looking at her picture, I'm inclined to agree with her. The picture is basically just colourful lines that go in different directions. I have no idea what this is supposed to be and take a step closer to her.

“What are you doing there?”, I ask.
In the next moment I wanna slap myself for that dumb question. I can clearly see she's painting. But Josephine usually always understands me, even if my questions are dumb. I believe that's one of the reasons why I love her. Josephine turns around fast, still with the brush in her hand and splashes me with paint. But I don't care.
“I'm painting myself a world”, she explains.
I, as happens so often, don't understand her. But that's okay.
“A world?”, I ask.
“I only see lines.”
Josephine rolls her eyes.
“Be a little more creative. Come here, Mia, I'll explain it to you.”
So I listen to Josephine and step closer to the picture. Still I can't see anything more than before. I look at her questioningly.

“Alright, so it's like this. Every line and every colour symbolizes something else. A country, a language, a culture, a life. You gotta imagine it like this”, she says and follows a line with her finger on the picture.
“This is a country. And that there are all the cultures in that country”, she says and points at lot of other lines on the picture.
“Those are the languages that are spoken in that country and that here” she says and points at a blue line, “is a life. Yours, mine. Somebody's. Who knows. And all these little branches here are things that happened in that life. And the new lives that formed from this one.”

Fascinated I listen to her. With that explanation Josephine's work seems that much more beautiful to me. Even if I find everything that she does beautiful. One question I can't hold back:”But why all of this?” Josephine smiles.
“Have you never wished for a possibility to flee from reality? Be somewhere else? Be someone else? With this picture it's easy. All you need is your fantasy. Come one, I'll show you. First you must imagine we're inside a enormous universe with many worlds and even more countries, cultures and living beings. Can you do that? Good. This is our world. Let's call it Jerenity”, Josephine says and follows one of the yellow lines with her finger.

“In Jerenity there are countless countries. In any one of those, we live. Maybe in this one? Or this one?”, she asks and points at two different green lines.
“Let's assume we live in Antakara. What do you think, which culture do the people in this country have? Maybe they say a prayer every night. But maybe there's no religion at all. Maybe the families sing the same song together every night. Or everyone has a different culture, who knows. Maybe you like the culture. Maybe you don't. Some traditions you probably think are stupid, others great. It could be the case, that there's only one language spoken in this country. Maybe it's called Adeliane. If there were many languages, would you learn them all? And look, here. This is a life”, she says and points at a blue line. Fascinated I listen to her explanations and start building my own world in my head.

“Imagine this is your life. Maybe you just turned thirty years old. That there”, she says and points at two little branches, “could be your kids. And that is your husband. Maybe you're all sitting together outside right now and praying to the moon.”
I like her descriptions, only the fact that she didn't mention herself, I dislike. I can't imagine a life without her. Josephine doesn't seem to mind that I was silent the whole time. Another reason why I love her. Slowly I turn to leave, because during Josephine's explanation it has indeed gotten quite late.

“Do you know that I love you?”, I want to ask her, but I don't dare to. Instead I say:”Thank you for showing that to me. It's really great. But I gotta go now.”
I pull her into a hug and feel like a coward. Probably I am one. I leave the room, leave Josephine alone again with her picture. It is truly great, what a world she painted there. Still, I think a world in which she's happy, is the most beautiful one, that can exist. Even if she is happy without me. If need be, I can still paint myself a happy world with her.