[ Michel has never taken any great interest in art. He's frequented enough art galleries and museums to recognise certain styles, but he's as willfully ignorant about the details as he is about classical music. A bad student, wasn't he? Math was his main strength. Some social sciences. History. The rest was -- like a dismissive gesture over one shoulder, beyond him.
However, listening to Timm speak like this, he realizes that he has always been attracted to artists primarily. Before Elio, it was Julien, the architect who - in much this way - would tell him, what you call a curved line, I know fifty different expressions for; don't simplify things, Michel, when Michel pointed to his sketch and said, many curved lines on that one. After Julien, it was Elio and only Elio, always Elio. After Elio, not truly anyone, but Timm sleeps in his bed sometimes and although they don't fuck, they share so many other things.
Age. The last stretch of life before them. He dries some crumbs off the tabletop with one hand, meeting the other man's eyes directly. No hesitation. No shyness. ]
I could never say no to a visit to the lake.
[ It's with a small smile that Michel replies. He knows Timm doesn't see the landscape here the way he does, he understands the reference in Corot country, but he also knows so much more about all that than Michel would ever pretend to. And he doesn't attach the same memories to it; perhaps that's all the same. Perhaps that's all the better. ]
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However, listening to Timm speak like this, he realizes that he has always been attracted to artists primarily. Before Elio, it was Julien, the architect who - in much this way - would tell him, what you call a curved line, I know fifty different expressions for; don't simplify things, Michel, when Michel pointed to his sketch and said, many curved lines on that one. After Julien, it was Elio and only Elio, always Elio. After Elio, not truly anyone, but Timm sleeps in his bed sometimes and although they don't fuck, they share so many other things.
Age. The last stretch of life before them. He dries some crumbs off the tabletop with one hand, meeting the other man's eyes directly. No hesitation. No shyness. ]
I could never say no to a visit to the lake.
[ It's with a small smile that Michel replies. He knows Timm doesn't see the landscape here the way he does, he understands the reference in Corot country, but he also knows so much more about all that than Michel would ever pretend to. And he doesn't attach the same memories to it; perhaps that's all the same. Perhaps that's all the better. ]
Not with you to be my eyes.