Authors Notes:

This is my first fanfiction. Eep! I never knew it was so hard. Now I have a greater respect to fantastic writers.

I don't own anything except the words that were written. Characters belong to their respective owners. In this case history and Stephen Sondheim.

Georges POV:

There is nothing more to life than a fresh white canvas finally dry to paint upon after being particularly prepared with gesso with your colors laid out in a foray of pattern. The intoxicating familiar smell of the oil paints on the glass relieves the tension of the day with its soothing musty scent. The warm sunlight smell of linseed oil rolls out of the jar it is contained in, being wafted gracefully around the room every time I disturb its contents ever so slightly. The light falling out through the window of the studio hitting the water in my glass brings out all the sparkles of color like a flowing prism. It is this quality of light that is so intriguing. So many possibilities and colors it could portray. With the simple turn of the head the light changes colors and brings something new to your eye every breathing moment in time.

Light makes me think of the banks of the Asnieres and all the hues hidden in the "blue" that so many people would call it. Nothing is simply just blue. There are greens, yellows and purples in water. Some even red and orange. Why can I only see this in this beautiful world? No one understands the complexity yet naïve way nature is. Nothing is simply a flat color, but yet it is. The world is so vibrant made of an unfathomable amount of hues and shades of color. The air we breathe itself is full of vibrating colors. I can barely portray the beauty of this on a canvas, like looking at leaves and never seeing the tree behind them.

I am always stuck at where to start. Starting a painting with a fresh canvas is so exciting yet in itself intimidating. You just have to push forward and lay color down. You can't go wrong with a painting. There are no wrong turns or steps to make. Just brace yourself and go. Just pick a color and go. Blue. That color so flat and boring before is so vibrant when placed near orange. There is such strong contrast and complimentary properties to itself in many ways.

Black and white are not colors though some claim that they are. White is the absence of color and the presence of all colors. White is the color of pure light. It is the matter of bending the light to let it show the hidden colors beneath its simple cover. Shades of yellow, blues and greens are often mistaken for white. If you look hard enough and wait you can catch the glitter of these hidden hues. Just be patient. It is like learning how to see again and once you see it, it is like seeing the world in a whole different way. Everything has such intense vibrancy and delicacy. Black is much the very same way of white. Nothing is simply a shade of black. There are numerous hues that make it up as well. Things look black to the untrained eye, but to me it is more than that. Voracious reds and blues hide in the shadows that are just begging to be seen.

Black is white and white is black. So many colors at once and so few. Simple yet complex.