L’ÉCRITURE D’ÉTÉ: A Modern interpretation of Eros and Psyche

By Camilla Howalt

PART 1



1/24

Muse thought about how nice the heat affects one's body when the sun shines from the highest point in the sky. She thinks about how Sundays have the same effect. And once that happens, then what? She reaches out for him, for his head, his body and his legs, all three, including his mind.

[I should not be stretching my efforts today, she thought. It is a day of repose. One day a week. But you are still that pause that gives me the deepest pleasure]

So, for reasons beyond the law of gravity, she nevertheless stretches out her arm, her hand, her index finger, and puts it gently on his shoulder - can you feel it?

[I write this under my breath. A quiet unobtrusive one. I don't want to wake you, and therefore I stretch my outbreath as quietly as possible all the way to its end, so far out that my body by automation pulls in air, rapidly for the next, breath]

It tickles the skin. Her finger. Then it makes circles. First small, then larger. Then a tiny. Last, she measures these - the circumferences - without a ruler, so that later she can confidently state, 5 centimetres.  7. And 3. It then slides gently behind and down towards the indent hidden by the upper part of the arm. The left one. Inside this hollow, which is covered in hair, hides a scent that only she knows. No one has previously known about it, it is hers. Yet, it belongs to him.

[I am writing this while noticing that saliva has gathered in the moment of silk producing excitement and lies like a little lake at the bottom of my mouth. I swallow it in the expectation that in a moment you will blossom, like a flower, by turning around, and letting the light shine on you]

The outer tip of her finger is mischievous. It comes up with the most imprudent ideas. And when there is too much noise, it burrows deep into the sides of its finger-tip-head, to protect the vulnerable sensor, which is all too often overstimulated, and therefore in pure high pressure continues to vibrate long after there are no noisy sounds. In the same way as the weather, when the heat undulates like blankets without gaps across the city's streets and rooftops. Forming tiny lakes. Moist drops of sweat: on his body, on hers, and on the white sheet beneath them - through which they were swallowed.

[I hold back my breath a little. A movement coming from below, from your feet, is the first thing I become aware of as I lie still with my body. With my eyes closed. With my hands. One on each breast. Not to touch you until I know if you are just tossing and turning in your sleep, or if behind your closed eyelids you are now awake and your feet are purposefully searching to intertwine with mine…]

The weather. It is raining outside. The sound against the window.

2/24

When he woke up, he was lying in such a way that his face turned towards the window. Without opening them he knew from below the closed eyelids that the sun was shining, because the skin on his forehead, on his cheeks and on his nose felt warm and almost sweaty. As if drops of glistening water had appeared like little glass beads all over his face. On his shoulder he felt a circle being drawn, then another, then a third.

With open eyes, he turns so that he is lying on his back, and with his right hand he feels for his shoulder. Here he finds narrow circular protrusions, a sensation reminiscent of having a tattoo done.

Outside, the sun is gone, clouds are gathering, and only in the distance is there a spotless sky. Before long it is raining, thundering and lightning, and he is asleep again.

In the dream, he subsequently dreams that an unknown girl is lying by his side. In the bed. She is awake and he now sees that he is sleeping. With her left hand, she tickles him on his left shoulder as if to wake him up gently. What seems to be an innocent tickle may develop. At first, he half-turns as if to look at her, but changes direction and instead lies on his stomach.

His dream ego sees this and shouts, no, you have to turn to the girl! The girl, she is right there! Turn around. But he sleeps on, and the girl sits up. Outside, it is pouring down, and the morning sun that woke him up does not come out again until the afternoon.

Next time he wakes up, he sits up in bed with a jolt and looks around bewildered. Who was the girl? He clearly remembers how she looked and how she tickled him ever so gently to wake him up to what now felt like a lovely morning. One morning, he remembered, with kisses and caresses, with skins that meet, with lips that seek to find their way, and let each other touch. The tongues, both of them, stealing away, one tip seeking the other, meeting - he is now fully awake.

He sees the last images from the dream slide slowly past before his inner eyes and, like sand in an hourglass, away. How real the physical encounter felt. At the same time, as in the dream, his fingers reach out and around to touch the place where the girl drew the circles. He senses something that wasn't there before. Bewildered, he gets up from the covers and goes into the bathroom. In the mirror, he sees on his shoulder three circles connected like the Borromean rings - three simple closed curves in a three-dimensional space, topologically connected and inseparable from each other, but which gradually dissolve into two unconnected loops when one of the three is cut or removed.

3/24

While the woman with white skin and short blond hair touched the sleeping man with her gentle fingertips, without him seeming to wake up, she knew very well that the nail on the index finger would leave traces in the form of red. It was never something that happened because she wanted to hurt anyone. She just touched the person she loved and soon after a kind of drawing appeared on their skin that never went away.  It became almost like a birthmark or the type of drawing seen in sacred and often secret documents referred to as watermarks.

The images were never as strong and prominent as a tattoo, more subdued and soft. However, they stood out enough so that there was no doubt about the drawing's existence.

She felt a bit like she had some sort of siren gift. But where the sirens sang, she drew. Her fingertips, one might say, sang instead of her vocal cords. Therefore, it was extra important how she touched and which pattern she executed. It was not always controllable. Because the drawing came about in a kind of shared unconsciousness. Her attraction, and his. Together, they came into being and created this joint work, which became the other's ornament.

If she stayed with him for any length of time, his body would become a living canvas, and that was not always something people liked. Therefore, she usually only came to visit, once or twice, so as not to frighten or terrify the man. Most people can live with a few small drawings, not quite understanding from where they come. A coincidence that cannot be explained may happen a few times. But beyond that, it would be perceived as a pattern in the human psyche. And patterns often turn into obsessions, and obsessions into anxieties. And then, Man had no means of self-healing, and a long disturbing process would begin involving symptoms, diseases, investigations, and diagnoses. All of which would turn the focus away from the drawing and what it really meant and what magic was truly going on. And Man would lose the gift in a mess of mental turmoil that had no home in any universe.

She kissed him with her lips. Left her fingertips at rest. Instead, she let her tongue slide along the line of the spine up towards the neck until she hit the hairline. Here, she sniffed in his scents, leaving behind her own, in a kind of amorous bliss that should feel uplifting and inspiring, not disturbing and degrading.

4/24 

The following morning he awoke to the sound of craftsmen down the street beginning their work - a piercing sound of someone drilling into asphalt - new internet, he remembered, was to be installed.  The entire property would be provided with fiber optics. Til det, kunne han høre, brugte de et angstfremkaldende og heftigt klingende diamant betonbor som er påkrævet når der bores i beton eller asfalt. Diamanter? Ja, mumlede han og mindedes hvor tiltrukket han altid havde været efter lige præcis dette værktøj. Not the drill nor the sound, but the enunciation of the actual word. The parts of these tools, which mainly consist of steel tubes, are impregnated with pieces of industrial diamond. This special bit is mounted on the axle of the drill and then attached to the structure being drilled.

[Yes, apologies for not mentioning it earlier, my main character worked for many years before becoming an architect as a craftsman, and knows quite a lot about foundations, materials and tools, streets and alleys,, and now also buildings]

Out in the bathroom, he stood for a moment in front of the mirror - looking at himself. Absently stroking his slightly hairy chest, as if to wake himself up, he caught sight of another finely executed drawing. What the heck, he straddled the sink to take a closer look at his left breast. Sure enough, the three rings, now in a miniature version were engraved close to his left nipple. In red. In red…

He ran his finger over the area to feel if the rings had an elevation like the ones he found on the shoulder, and sure enough, narrow sleight heights were felt. He thought about it. Yesterday? - I was at home. I watched the telly. I brushed my teeth. I read my book on Greek architecture. I turned off the light, and I slept.

[and you dreamed!]

I dreamed. I dreamed of the woman from the other night. She touched me. The same woman. Same fingertips. Was it a dream? It was a dream! I stedet for at gå i bad gik han ud i køkkenet for at lave kaffe.  Mens det bryggede rørte han ved mærkerne igen.  Kaffe i hånden gik han tilbage i sin seng med sin computer og søgte efter ord.  Søgte efter drøm versus virkelighed, kvinder malende fingerspidser, negle som blyanter, overførsler…Han løb ud på badeværelset og forsøgte med både sæbe og skurebørste at vaske cirklerne af, men de sad fast. De var virkelige, i huden. Han tørrede sig og ringede til sin læge. Fik en tid om eftermiddagen klokken to. 

5/24

The doctor, who was now elderly, had been the family doctor for as long as he could remember. He saw him when he first sprained his ankle after a frantic chase through a forest where he was chased after school by some older students. He had tripped and sprained his foot - it swelled up.  The older students, one of whom was friendly, had found him.  Instead of making the situation worse, the kind one had insisted on helping him home.

There were countless encounters throughout childhood where visits to the family doctor were necessary. The vaccines - he didn't like them. Or the weighings - ugh. But he remembers best the time after his father died and how the elderly doctor had visited his father throughout his illness. Every day for the last three weeks, without exception. They had been friends long before, and the doctor had therefore done even more than he otherwise saw the need to. He, therefore, meant quite a bit to both Hans and his siblings.

Inside the familiar office, they both sat down. The doctor said in his rather neat way, Well Hans - what can I do for you? I have experienced something strange, Hans said. You must think me most strange when I tell you this… Hans looked away and tried for a moment to avoid the next thing. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and points first to the shoulder and then to the chest. Can you see this? Is it Worm?

The doctor walks close to Hans and studies his skin with his eyes. At first, without and then with his magnifying glass. He runs the tip of one finger along the edge of the bigger group of circles, the large one, the medium one, then finishes off with the smallest. As soon as the doctor finishes, he looks up and realizes that something is not quite right.  Hans’ pupils, great black holes, dilated as if he had seen something sinister. The doctor supports him to the chair. Hans sits down. Calm down, the doctor whispers. I know you have been under a lot of pressure.  But there is no danger.  At least it is not a worm.

Hans did not intend to widen his eyes, but as the doctor traced the lines of the three circles with his index finger, something happened inside him that made his focus suddenly and sharply intensify. It had felt like a heart attack at first, even though he had never had one.  Everything contracted and he couldn't breathe.  Then the eyes widened.  In front of him he saw the girl from his dreams, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  But it was impossible. The doctor's voice brought him back to his body, and he relaxed more and more. Yes, he thought to himself. It has indeed been a time of intense activity: all the pitches on new buildings, buildings already started for completion, which came on top of Dad dying and now being buried in the family cemetery.

If I tell the doctor about the dreams, he might think I've gone crazy. I don't think I'll say more. He clears his throat and looks at the doctor who smiles back at him with a loving smile. It touches Hans. He feels a lump in his throat as if the man in front of him and his kindness out of the blue stirs up emotions associated with the loss of his father. As long as it is not a worm or something, I guess I do not have to fear anything, do I? It is not something I recognize, says the doctor and looks carefully at the chest drawings again. This one is smaller and points to it just above the heart. You did not - he says it illustratively to make Hans feel better - draw them yourself or get someone to do it? Hans, smiling vaguely, shakes his head.

6/24

The next night, while Hans was sleeping so sweetly, the young woman came to visit. He looked like a younger version of himself. This big, strong, and handsome man looked like a little innocent boy. He is probably dreaming sweetly, he is probably dreaming about me. But when she looked around she still got a little worried about how he was feeling. Everywhere there were notes, printouts, and references to the three rings and their possible meanings. What was it about the men she became muse for who couldn't control themselves? She had to put a damper on his creativity, in a way that he could concentrate better. Before she laid down in his bed with her stomach against his back, she looked up a few things on the computer that he wouldn't otherwise have seen, but that would make him think in the contexts she was here to get  him in the direction of.

It was not the only reason, although it was important. The second reason was to make him think of donuts. A lot of them. The ones with holes in them. And lots of sugar and decorations on top. She laughed a little to herself and drew a few rings somewhere he would not immediately be able to notice, to get the dream in the direction of something sweet. That which would connect his taste buds with his inner imagination, as well as desire. After all, it was one’s desire that determined which choices one made. Therefore, she did not have physical contact with her apprentices - she referred to those she was called to muse for - only sensual contact, she said mischievously, to provoke the politically correct. Which choice would point one in the best direction? Right now, the constellation of ideas was both sweet and full of potential. At least he seemed to have figured it out with the drawings.  She could feel it on his skin, which began to tremble. All she had done was draw five donut-type rings next to each other impaled on a stick. She could feel his body begin to vibrate. Trembling in her hands.  Such a beautiful movement that even the biggest man couldn't live without it. She thought of something she had once heard in a lecture,

When a man wants a woman, it is because he loves her, but when a woman loves a man, it is because she cannot live without salt water. She felt a small tug in her heart, it almost felt like a small pain, something she didn't know otherwise, but that she had heard of, something Aphrodite called love.

7/24

It was an important day.  He had to pitch one of his projects to a panel of judges from a competition he had been invited to attend after his latest and very successful architectural project, a project he had done with a partner. He had creative ownership of this project, and if he won, he would be able to choose his own team of architects and assistants, builders and craftsmen.

Han havde været nervøs, men arbejdet hårdt, i flere måneder. Han havde fundet essensen af projektets sjæl, så at sige, men selv udformningen havde ladet vente på sig. In the morning, the day after he saw the doctor – perhaps because he had fallen asleep earlier than usual the night before – he woke up earlier than usual. He didn't tend to remember his dreams, but last night he had dreamed of something soft, something round, something that tasted good. His teeth watered. He drank some, fresh from the tap, made a large cup of coffee and some toast, and went to the bathroom - in reverse, of course - and while the coffee was brewing, he got his computer. In the browser, he saw some web pages he could not remember having brought forth. But… He sensed it like a forgotten word that can be felt on the tip of the tongue.  It sits right where you can feel the shape of it, but without any expression to follow up on.  A disconnect between memory and motor execution.  Aha.  Yes.  There it was.  Rose stems and something else... In three.

Three connected rings, together and yet separate: he knew the Venn diagram of both two and three or more circles, which lay on top of one another, thus creating divided areas. These were similarly connected. It could mean different things. Apparently this symbol, in this kind of constellation was used within marriage and meant unity. The circle was the symbol of eternity, without a beginning or end, but the hole in the center of the ring had an even stronger meaning. It was not only considered an empty space, but rather a gateway or portal leading to things and events, both known and unknown.

[you have forgotten it now, but you will come to think of bridges and connection points between parallel worlds]

He looked at the stem of the rose, and as if on a Vector program, the stem in his inner eye began to take graphic form. Without the crown, the stem can now be seen from above and from the side. From these angles, the stalk looked like a circular tube with spikes, and if you put three such tubes with spikes next to each other, a fabulously interesting structure appeared. A complex of three buildings with round architecture, in height from three to twelve floors. Each apartment is protected by a fence with a thorn-shaped design, which functions both as a partition between neighboring apartments and as shade for the balconies.

The fact that the buildings are asymmetrical in size simply meant that they were designed to be unique and distinctive from each other. This could create an interesting and visually appealing living environment. Overall, this design appeared to be an exciting architectural concept that would provide both aesthetic and functional benefits to the residents.

8/24

The drawings were still there. And as time went by they felt more and more like a part of him. Once in a while, he found himself absentmindedly tracing the lines to see if he could feel the same explosive experience as when the doctor had followed the outlines, but it didn't happen.

In the library, he had researched various possible directions of meaning, besides the one having to do with marriage and unity.

And of course, he knew some of them - the Venn diagram is almost common knowledge from elementary school upwards, and at the school of architecture, several students tried to use the idea, in connection with private versus public space concepts. But he did not remember any successful projects. The fact that the webpages were on his computer, without him having found them himself, also bothered him. But the inspiration was real enough. Both that and then the dreams he had at night. Not that he remembered them. He sensed them. He sensed her.

[of course, Hans. I am your destiny. And even if the time is not yet here, I am on my way. First, however, we must sail through some skerries]

As he sat with his pencil in one hand sketching ideas, he wondered if there was a connection between the rings on the screen and the rings on his body after all. Hell, it hadn't even occurred to him. The drawings of three connected rings, on the body. The internet! And the woman whose face he could not see, but which he sensed. A woman he felt physically, through his senses, and as if she was guiding him mentally and conceptually. It was not an experience he had had before and he wondered what could have set it off.

[the subtle and always undefinable meeting point between the subjective and the objective is an interesting point of departure, and if integrated creatively, it can be a successful weave of identity]

He had not been happier and had enough to do in terms of work and social engagements. He didn't have a girlfriend yet, and dreamed of meeting one, but not in the same way as when he was younger. It had to be something else. Perhaps he had begun to think differently about relationships through his work with glass.

9/24

She sat on the bed while he drew and watched his thoughts as they sloshed around, from one side of his brain to the other, forward and back again. The movements were soft. He was certainly less anxious than he had been on the first, or the second day, but today he had not detected any new drawing either. Only when he met her in reality, and they casually examined each other’s bodies as women and men do when they fall in love, would he discover through this woman the other small clusters of rings, each referring to a night with her in a previous dream.

She thought he looked handsome. Curly hair cut short and a well-kept beard. Dark gray eyes that looked at you honestly and as if examining what they were looking at. She was looking forward to their meeting again. It was not the first time they met - it was the second or third - since she decided that he was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and however many were to follow.

She looked at him. He would continue to draw and puzzle with his thoughts for some more time while he thought about the challenges of his creative triptych - if you can use this term with regards to buildings: a large-sized, a middle-sized, and a small building - as well as having vacillant thoughts about his future girlfriend who without his conscious knowledge was already lying on his bed, without a cloth on her body, calling him to her in a silent voice.

DEL 2

10/24

A body consists of countless parts. Inner and outer, which together form a whole. The first part he felt was the heart.

It happened when he was only fifteen years old, and it was through this prolonged and nerve-wracking period that he and the doctor got to know each other extra well.

There is no way around it, Hans. If this is not going to kill you, you must start living differently even at a very young age. Your heart pumps more blood than is needed. There are various possible reasons behind it. But one of the ways you can help yourself the most is by calming your nervous system. In your family - your father suffered from the same - there is a predisposition to it. It causes one, two, or all three heart valves to grow out of proportion to the other flaps or to the body in which the heart resides. In itself, this is not dangerous, as long as growth is kept in check. But if the flaps become too large, it is life-threatening. Do you have any thoughts on what I have said and how we should approach it?

The first thing that popped into Hans’ mind was the idea of sex. He looked at the doctor and wondered if that was a relevant or appropriate thought or if the important thing in this situation had anything to do with death. He then asked, can I die from it? The doctor shook his head, no, he said. Not now. Not for a long time. But discomfort may occur when you push yourself physically – sports, alcohol, parties and yes, even during intimate situations, even if you're a little too young for it now.

Hans' eyes met the doctor's. He thought, can he read my mind? The doctor laughed softly. Hans, he said, that's the first thing all boys and men think of when they get this type of information. Young and old. Hans blushed. From the base of his neck up to his hairline, his skin shone unmistakably red.

Okay. Okay. Hans smiled goofily. I'm not going to have children now, but later, can I have children? Is it OK? Yes, said the doctor with a warm tone to his voice. Everything is as it should be. I'm not giving you any medicine today, but exercises that initially will help you calm your breathing. Morning and evening, as the first and the last. Preferably every day, but start with one day a week, then two, then three, until you're up to a whole week. Then a month, and so on. It can do wonders, and not just for your heart. For your creativity - was it an animator you'd like to be? Architect, Hans corrected him. Architect. I want to be an architect. The doctor continued, these are usually large projects, with big budgets and responsibilities. Make sure you build a foundation of healthy routines and I see no reason why you won't succeed.

Thanks, Hans looked at the doctor. A doctor who had followed him since he was a newborn. The warmest and most loving doctor you could wish for and one of the few who believed in help for self help.

When Hans got out into the street, he started to cry. He knew very well that what the doctor had said was serious. He knew his father died from it. Not as a young person like Hans, but younger than he would otherwise have been. At the tender age of just 16, he decided to read all about the syndrome and find the healthiest path that would support his choice of work and accompanying lifestyle.

11/24

On his way home, he passed the place he always went to when something needed to be mulled over and resolved. He thought of it - the problem - as a head full of hair inhabited by owls, and himself as the guy with the wide-toothed comb.

In the exhibition hall, where as a young man Hans had happened to find a place to sit after the heavy news of his father's passing, mainly older paintings hung. Here he sat chewing his heart out while absently looking at his surroundings. Since then, he had become more aware of the beautiful works around him, and to his great amusement, a painting - which caused a great stir in 1866 among the viewers and still does - became his favorite. When he first entered the museum, it was mostly due to internal turbulence. He knew nothing about the painting and only a little about the museum. Since then, it became the place he always went to when his thoughts melted, and it was here that he discovered the function of the comb.

What depicted a realistic portrait of the nether parts of a naked woman could just as well be a Nature Morte or a Vanitas since the woman in the picture was rumored to have already died when the painting was created. It was a little too dark for a fifteen-year-old boy. Instead, he chose the second option, that the woman lying on her back with a hidden gaze was the painter's mistress. And that he, the painter, was a man in love, curious about the secret place from which he and all other people had once come. 

The internal organs were of course not visible but the entrance to them was. It made Hans think of another rumor that the woman in the picture was said to be a virgin. Hans chuckled a little to himself. The rumor had spread so far that it had resulted in someone asking a male gynecologist if he could determine from the outer BEEP whether the woman in the painting was a virgin - Hans now laughed out loud. Not as a zodiac sign, as BEEP active. The gynecologist should have said that it was not something that could be concluded from the painting itself.

A painting - so much furor. Often Hans had sat in the hall, not directly in front but further away, as if looking at one of the less exposed paintings in room 20. He was not to be seen as a young pére-version, one of the old pigs who could only see women as sexual objects.

He had loved the painting from the first moment he saw it. As if the depiction of the woman, living or dead, was the most vulnerable, strong and secretive, in the whole world. There was no doubt that he had seen it with erotic inclinations to begin with. At fifteen, it's hard to do anything else.

12/24

Despite the heart disease, and with thorough and regular supervision, Hans had made his debut at the age of seventeen. Two years after his first encounter with the painting and with the possibilities of the comb at his disposal.

The fascination with the comb stemmed from an exhaustive exploration of the alluring artwork. This involved delving into the painter's background, studying his artistic methods, and immersing oneself in his personal history. Determining the painting's origin within the artist's timeline and speculating about the potential identity of the model were subjects that relied solely on conjecture. Perhaps the allure lay in the tantalizing possibility of unraveling these loose threads.

Later, he discovered the value and the initial purchase price of the painting, which was a mere XXX dollars at the time but now amounted to billions of dollars. Subsequently, he learned about the painting's previous owners. It was during this period that he encountered the psychoanalyst who, until his demise, kept the artwork in his countryside residence. The painting remained concealed beneath another artwork, ingeniously crafted to allow the new piece to hang over the old one, providing access to the side for peaceful contemplation. It offered an opportunity to truly see, feel, and experience the depicted woman, thereby stimulating personal desires and evoking sinful fantasies through the power of the observing gaze.

13/24

Hans began to read about the painter Gustave Courbet and those who had inspired him. It led him back in time to the period when Leonardo da Vinci lived, and he developed a profound interest in da Vinci's versatile work as a painter, inventor, mathematician, physicist, and architect.

He read biographies about Leonardo da Vinci and observed his works whenever possible. He tried to follow him in his studies and recreate many of his drawings on various subjects from scratch.

He had also read about da Vinci's experience of feeling like an outsider, something Hans could relate to, although not as severe as it had been for Leonardo da Vinci in the later part of his life. He didn't want to end up there, he had decided. Therefore, he set out to understand “the doodle" (a complex concept) in a way that no one in his family or anyone else had ever done.

The doodle was a part of the psyche that was beyond reach. It couldn't be reached through control or any seductive method. The only way to reach it was by letting go of control and the idea of what goal one had and where one wanted to go. It was contrary to what Hans had been trying to do his whole life, contrary to societal trends, and contrary to his friends' idea of having fun.

Therefore, it was in a way not just fortunate but also well-timed that the heart condition entered his life. Now Hans had a legitimate reason to say no to all the things that bored him. No one wanted to be left with a dead Hans because they had pressured him into partying, drinking beer, traveling to Ibiza, and so on.

14/24

When his eyes followed the strokes from the brush, let them move from the bridge of the nose, down the neck, further down the stomach, while the colors took him in and absorbed him as if he were witnessing the skin of a naked woman, he could not avoid reacting.

He always only got to the navel area before he had to stand up, shake his limbs and leave. On the toilet. Fortunately, the museum had individual cabins, closed both at the ceiling and floor and not, as in some places, with open spaces. Above and below.

The sound was therefore contained and not transferred to the next rabbits. Because even though he was careful, quiet and breathless, it was almost impossible for him not to respond to the caresses of his upper body when his slightly clammy hands with a firm grip slid up and down the shaft. Under the touches of the inner images, that rod had a life of its own and was boss whether he wanted it to be or not.

Curiously, at this point, it was no longer the painting he had in mind. But him. The doctor. And maybe even his wife. He imagined her looking at him looking at the painting, in underwear. Each alone. In the evening, after slipping the newer painting away only to review the older one behind.

As he looked at the inner images, the body part also reacted. He imagined this professionally grandiose man masturbating hard to the exposed private parts depicted in the painting, which in all its innocence and seductive detail excited something in the man that not even a real woman could.

He was on the verge of enthusiastic release as he noticed her - the owner of the painting’s wife - her presence enhanced the intensity of the situation and captivated Hans. Her husband stood a bit off to the side, while she was seated, gazing at him with dilated pupils. His energy was palpable, revving up like a V8 engine.

This dynamic seemed to encourage her onward. Hand perceived that she, with both hands and legs positioned openly, allowed him a near-transparent view into every aspect he hadn't yet discovered within the painting.

15/24

Eventually, the scope expanded beyond triangles and squares to encompass circles. A line extended from the painting to the man, and another coursed from the man to his wife. A third line connected the wife to the painting. If Hans incorporated his own observation, a fourth line emerged, interlinking the painting, himself, and the wife.

This served as the foundation for creating circles. Every element, whether subject or object, represented a point or circle, whose proximity heightened the potential for various configurations. This arrangement, a constellation of forms, proved effective on multiple fronts:

The physical realm.

The psychological aspect.

The emotional facet.

The biological dimension.

The geographical perspective.

The architectural realm.

The artistic composition.

The affectionate connection, and notably,

The intimate aspect.

Hans started to envision the concept even at that early moment, discerning a subtle connection that also illuminated the path to his struggles within his physical body. The artwork itself became one metaphorical chamber of the heart, the doctor the second, while his wife occupied the third chamber.

Their interconnectedness resembled the simplicity of a Venn diagram, making the essence of connection more palpable. His sense of self, overarching and comprehensive, encompassed all potential unknown factors. As young Hans entertained these thoughts, he was suddenly overcome by intense feelings of dizziness and nausea and lost consciousness.

Silently, he slumped from the bench located slightly to the right of the painting within the gallery. His body found no stable footing, and he remained unconscious after the fall. A vigilant gallery guard bore witness to the incident and found in Hans' wallet, his card of identification and another detailing his heart condition. Swiftly, he coordinated the arrival of an ambulance and while hastening to take a seat next to him inside the vehicle, he recounted the events leading to Hans' losing consciousness to the paramedics.

16/24

So it happened. Desire had taken over the rational. All the drawings had become wet from the spilled water. None of what he had spent so much time on could now be used, but I believe that honoring something greater than one's own existence is part of the way forward.

The voice sounded faintly from somewhere. It continued. It almost feels as if it comes simultaneously with the profound form of creativity. The painting floated before his inner self. The honest form.

It shows existence as it is. It makes the body react by feeling desire, a pleasure that feels like an extension of a constellation of several elements. Not just the physical, but also the mental.

That, but also the connection between himself, his teacher, and the teacher of the wife's husband, the imaginary phallus. But how does it relate to being professional or a student, a real architect?

To feel pleasure, physical or mental pleasure - even though it's very new to you, it seems like it makes you feel shame, and when shame appears, it's followed by being unprofessional. Because how can these inner experiences exist and be in harmony with the external world?

But today, there is no shame. You no longer feel ashamed. The only thing it has made you think about is whether it's professional. Something that was brought up in the MeToo movement.

That part interests you. But what interests you even more is the connection between working and acknowledging the body's ability to enjoy life sensually.

Why should it be a secret? And why can one only be a sentient being and, for example, a male student or physicist, and the latter, in reality, only within the confines of marriage?

Does it perhaps have something to do with human capacity for imagination? Is it because it is implicit in human conversations that those we talk to might, by chance or not, come to imagine things and affairs about us?

This does not apply to the lover with whom you are not yet married or children conceived outside of wedlock, naked and just as red and greasy as those born within marriage. They drop out of the 'forbidden' area. The forbidden garden. An endless bush.

17/24

There was a lot of movement around Hans. Doctors, nurses, machines beeping, needles in his arm, mask pressed against his mouth. Hans' own doctor was present, with Hans' mother. His siblings knew nothing yet.

Hans, Hans? It's mom - can you hear me? Hans's mother, who had been sitting by Hans's bed in the hospital since he fell, held her hands around Hans as he lay motionless on the fifth day.

Suddenly, a spear went through his body. He opened his eyes and looked up. Mother? What are you doing here - are you not in Istanbul? Didn't you… Didn't you… Hans' voice trailed off as it dawned on him that something wasn't as it should be. Where am I?

You're in the hospital, Kingdom. You fell over. They called me. You've been gone since, for five days now. How are you feeling?

Hans felt with his fingertips his mother's hands, her face, her breast. I felt something in my heart. It was like I was impaled with an arrow. From the inside. I had been looking at that painting for months.

I had been looking at that painting for months. Thought a lot about it. Wrote quite a bit about it. Developed quite a few ideas. Something that would be significant when I study, he thought. I'm sure of that. I don't quite remember the elements of the dream. Something with lines between people, circles. Something about… Hans blushed.

He couldn't say it out loud. Although his mother would probably understand, she was a modern woman. At the time, however, he was still only sixteen years old, and still without much hair. Instead he continued his row of thoughts internally, thinking that the BEEP relationship between people, between oneself and the unknown in oneself, and with architecture surrounding us, was a matter of discretion and if not taboo, then secrecy.

He sighed. Inside his heart, a lot of work had been going on at a cellular level that no one knew anything about. But in the exhaling moment of the sigh, it was as if Hans felt three circles, connected to one another. He didn't understand what it meant, but thought about the three chambers of the heart, what the doctor had said, and the painting's last owner, the man and his his wife, the woman.

18/24

The first time he saw her, was also the very first time he was in hospital. It was in a dream. A beautiful young woman. She beckoned him towards her, beguiling and seductively. With her fingers she made a gesture, come with me. He couldn't help but notice at the same time that her nails didn't look like other nails.

It was as if they were sharpened, the same way one would sharpen a pencil. The outer edge of the nails, mainly the index fingers, with which you hold a pencil with, were red.

From his limited experiences with makeup, both his mother and sister had initiated him into their routines and playful attempts to develop a mask that could be used at home, work, socially, at parties and so on. And throughout his childhood they had used his eyes, his hands and feet, his lips and hair.

He had watched in fascination as the women in his family had practiced on each other, on their brothers and boyfriends, and on him. There were pictures of him, the most adorable ones, where it was hard to tell if he was a girl or a boy.

His curly hair put up with clips, mascara on the lashes, and gloss on the lips. The woman in the dream, who was both his age and much older, looked at him with such intimate knowledge that he couldn't help but follow along.

In the dream, they were together for many years, and when he woke up, he missed her as if she were real and that it was just a matter of time, but days passed, and the nights with it, until today when Hans was an adult, educated and with a successful job as an architect.

The heart, furthermore, found peace after the prolonged and recreational stay in the hospital, and since the beginning of the dream, he had not again felt what had felt like a death blow.

Since he had put a face to the woman in his dreams, the women in Hans' family had not only stopped swarming over him like a little girl, they had let him grow up. Gave him space. Let him find his own way.

And the painting - since he first saw it, had affected him on every level of life, directing him as the woman in the dream instructed him, by drawing dots, lines and circles wherever on his body she could find space in his dreams - was still his favorite. A place where he could think, and often went to, when faced with a creative project.

The contact with the last owner of the painting and his wife, who did not always only sit and enjoy the view together, were lively sparring partners and always interested in what ideas Hans had to show them. Ideas that he would, since his hospital days, sketch on checkered graph paper, in red.

PART 3

19/24

The three round Stängel buildings, as they had been called since the beginning of the buildings' creation, were now completed and inhabited by happy new residents. The outdoor areas were finished and both trees and shrubs, plants and flowers, sprouted and more had begun to bloom.

He often went around - it was his baby after all - and looked at them from different angles. Sometimes he saw the things in the construction that he had been forced to compromise with, but mostly, like today, he just managed to feel joy.

So many new elements were integrated into these buildings. Spaces for environmental friendliness, as well as the use of durable and recycled materials had held fast, resulting in a class of buildings that cost almost nothing to operate and that had found functional ways of recycling waste, not previously seen.

No more shafts to send their full bags with all kinds of rubbish down. No more open drains - Excuse me? Hello? Is your name Hans Navarano? You don't remember me, but you are the love of my life... A women smiles at him.

In front of him stood a very beautiful and rather shy woman whom he decided he knew, but could not place. Hello, he said - the love of your life? That is a rather large mouthful. He said, but the weather is nice, so why not? He smiled back.

Love can befall you every day, right? He then looked into the face before him, into the eyes that looked right through him, in a way he had not experienced before. Yes, we met a few years ago, while you were preparing to pitch her, it was quick. Pretty short. In a cafe. But... yes.

Hans said immediately, nervous that she would go, I am heading the same way anyway, shall we walk together? We can, but may I just ask you first, now that I see you standing here, and really look, so intensely, on your buildings, what is it, that you are looking for?

He was silent a little, didn't want to say anything about the drawings, and the two websites, but genuinely felt like mentioning it. Instead he said, “there are instances in the construction and design of these buildings that occurred to me in a very different way than ever before.”

They came into the world, so to speak, with the help of something which I… he looked around, looking for words, that would not seem like a lie, but also not too true in relation to reality. She said, would it be like using someone or something else? Hans looked directly at her. “Yes. Yes, he said, but that's what architecture does, isn’t it?”

It is created with the help of thousands of people, but this felt almost, I'm afraid you'll laugh at me, I'm just saying, otherworldly. Yes, otherworldly. Otherworldly? I fully understand that. I often float between worlds myself, on which she began to walk, smiling as if it had made her genuinely happy to hear his thoughts.

20/24

She had been able to follow him around in her new form. Not that it was necessary. She knew where he was at all times of the day. The important thing was not whether they saw each other or were together, it was not the amount of meetings that determined their future and how it would shape up. Rather, it was the depth. A depth she had felt from the first night she drew circles on his shoulder.

It pleased her to have to go through a not entirely painless transition from nocturnal muse to full-blooded woman. There was a long list of not only of practical tasks but also rituals, she had to perform daily to keep her body in order, something that had not occupied her at all before.

Previously, she had read and studied and knew, if not everything about everything, then almost everything about most things, and most things about everything. She could glimpse at a text and then remember all the essential details. She still carried all her knowledge within her.

But the speed at which she could convey what she was thinking, both in words and in writing, had slowed down. And drawing was no longer possible. The only circles she would draw were on paper or following the circles she had already left on his body.

21/24

He woke up the next morning with a fresh feeling, and if not butterflies in his belly, then something resembling it. He had a meeting about a new project that would include artist studios and housing, as well as special workshops.

The most important thing was not even this. It was that the artists to be accommodated were all artists from before 1970. The artists who would pay for the housing, through the lease agreement, would have access to studios and workshops.

The place had a café and a gallery consisting of two exhibition rooms. What would be discussed today were the criteria. Everyone agreed that the artists should be selected, but how. Based on their status or lack thereof in the art world? Their annual income? Whether they were or were not already represented by prominent galleries? Their awards or lack thereof? Their self-discipline and dedication? Their talent? 

What would such a project even add to the world if it merely enhanced the artists who already had it all? Wouldn't it be better to support the artists who clearly had talent, self-discipline, but who perhaps needed a hand with the communication and financial side of their art? The galleries and workshops would have their own managers and technicians, and would thereby form part of what could be called the ecology of the arts. He was very excited, had many thoughts about how the architecture should best take shape, and recognized that this project meant more to him than otherwise. It was a project of the heart.

He had asked Sachee yesterday if she wanted to come along since her understanding of art, architecture - yes, culture - was exceptional. In addition, she knew about finances and had onviously worked with budgets and accounts, as well as fundraising before.

He felt they could make a unique team, and she had said yes. They agreed to meet on the corner, just outside a photographic gallery, a gallery which, in addition to showing the latest experiments in photography, had a cozy cafe. Here they webt to have a coffe.

What do you say to a Take Away, and instead of sitting here, embark on a canal cruise? This city is built in relation to the water and from materials that can withstand both wind, waves and salt, as well as being renewed from sustainable materials - wanna come?

Sachee had come from a different direction than he expected and felt a rush of joy in his stomach when he heard her voice and couldn't help but hastily reply, yes, good idea! Of course he knew about the city's architectural history, that was his job, but he hadn't thought about that connection in this project. It wasn't a bad idea at all. The more he considered the possibility, the more ideas he got.

The coffee was good. And Sachee was good. She had read up on the story, and knew exactly where in his project her knowledge would fill gaps. He felt both pleased and excited to deliver the pitch in a way he had not done since the Stängel building.

22/24

Bruges is a relatively small city in European size, but the largest in the area. It is referred to as the Venice of the North because, like Venice, it is built on and around water.

The city is centrally located between the northern and southern trade routes and despite losing access to the sea at one point, this access was restored after a storm in the twelfth century. Not only architecturally, it is reminiscent of the Italian coastal town, from which the shoe trade industry borrowed and developed new forms of merchant capitalism.

The town's name - all of which you can read about online, but it is interesting in this context - probably derives from the old Dutch word for 'bridge.' And precisely the object, the word and the symbol, 'bridge,' is what is important in this context. Furthermore, the tidal inlet, which was the very entrance between Bruges and the world due to its trading success, was called the 'Golden Inlet.' It was before the whole city became a protected area and a World Heritage Site.

A World Heritage Site, or in Danish, a world heritage site, is a landmark or area with legal protection by the international convention, Organization for Education, Science and Culture (UNESCO), administered by the United Nations. World Heritage Sites are always designated by UNESCO to have cultural, historical, scientific or other types of significance. The sites are assessed to contain 'Cultural and natural heritage around the world that is considered to be of exceptional value to humanity.'

Ref/ Wiki(C&M)pedia

23/24

The night after the meeting, a feeling had run like a river through Sachee that she couldn't ignore. She had phoned Hans, who had happily taken her up on the invitation. The trouble with real life was that she couldn't travel in time and be in the rooms where she wanted to be, regardless of walls. Lying behind Hans, just like in the beginning, when he couldn't see or feel her, when she had drawn circles on his body, some of which were still secret, she wondered if he had met other women since then? Apparently not. The evening had been sweet. They ate, drank some wine, had coffee and listened to music. He had a great love for Portuguese folk music, especially the kind sung by a single woman, redo, credo? She couldn't remember its name - she googled it in the dark.

Fado.

‘The song form fado, it said, has its roots in folk music, but has also developed into a professional art form with national significance. The genre originated in the early 19th century in Lisbon.’

‘Fado means destiny, and is often associated with the Portuguese term saudade, which is about longing and nostalgia. Fado singing is accompanied by the lute instrument guitarra portuguesa, and often in addition the regular guitar.’

She smiled.

Credo, however, a word she knew was trying to tell her something about something she had forgotten but which was now important for her to remember. It annoyed her that her memory wasn't as sharp as before.

She knew it was a consequence of the transition from soul to human, but it was still the most annoying thing. Faith? She googled it.

To believe, or have confidence. Interesting to come across it now, in this situation. Fate. Longing. Believe?

CREDO (n.) 

plural noun: Credos

/ˈkriːdəʊ,ˈkreɪdəʊ/

A statement of the beliefs or aims which guide someone's actions:

A creed of the Christian Church in Latin: 

"he announced his credo in his first editorial"

A musical setting of the Nicene Creed, typically as part of a mass:

"the Credo of Bach's B minor Mass"

It was getting late. Hans asked, do you want to sleep over? She said yes, but even though she was tired, she couldn't sleep. He turned to face her face. She looked at him, he looked young, she thought. She wanted to touch him. But they weren't there yet. She had to restrain herself.

Instead she thought about the word credo, that had been sent to her through her heart by her family: Have confidence, it said. ‘Have’ in Danish means several things: garden - a garden full of flowers, ‘to have’ like a garden, and used imperatively, like ‘hav’, it means ‘sea’ - a sea of ​​trust, she thought. Sachee thought a little that to have sea imperatively, referred not only to her credo, her passions, the waters of her temperament, but also to the sea of ​​the world, and all the water that continues to break the earth's surface.

Then she smiled and tugged herself a little closer into him so she could feel the warmth of his upper arm. She giggled quietly to herself. He cleared his throat and she lay still again. Acting like a teenager, she poked her nose out a little, touching him the way her fingers once touched his skin. She drew a dot:

•

24/24

Three circles, I tell you, Hans said. Three. And not even just three, six. Three new circles appeared on one of my breasts a few days after the first ones. I went to the doctor. He could give no explanation. Hans went back and forth as he tried to find an explanation. Sachee was silent. She had shown him the tickle on his upper arm in the morning while he was brushing his teeth. It didn't look like the circles, but it was red like them. What does it mean? He stopped. I dreamed that in the time after that I would meet a woman who would find more drawings. That the woman in my life - that is, if you believe in such things - would show me all these - watermarks, you could almost call them. 

You've shown me the first one - are there more? Just try to look? Hans stands still in the middle of the room, only wearing boxer shorts. His arms sticking straight out on either side. He wants her to examine him. Sachee tries to look surprised, as if not knowing what she's looking for. But she knows exactly where they are. All twelve. Let's start with your feet. Hans sits down on the edge of the sofa. Sachee lifts the left foot up. Here are three rings, she says - aren't these looking like three rings, she asks, as she looks up at him.

Hans lifts his left foot so that it rests diagonally across his right leg, right above the right knee and looks closely at his sole. Just as nicely as Sachee had described, in the middle under the heel, were three drawings. Hans hiccuped, a dry lump in his throat made him keep swallowing to get rid of it. Hell, yeay, he exclaimed! Yes, see, there? Three. Continue, said Hans, look everywhere. Sachee, looked carefully over the whole left foot, right, calves, knees, front and back, thighs, hips, back and stomach, armpits, upper arms and lower arms, especially the back. Neck and neck, hairline. Scalp. Face.

As she stood very close to him and looked for :the red rings, in the ears, along the edges of the jaw, she looked into his eyes. Five centimeters between their faces. Bang! Then it happened. Both their knees gave way. Twelve, she said. All over your body. He took her in his arms, looked into her eyes as if from another world, while slowly approaching her. She looked into his eyes and her lips unknowingly parted. He kissed her.

THE END

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