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from
him
that’s aimed at
her
.
    Hello. I’m a no-eyed painter no one can hear and there’s a boy here wants you to – I don’t know – something.
    She can’t hear me : course she can’t : but she’s giving Vincenzo a good look over and Vincenzo, being saint, is averting his eyes (though the angelswith the whips and bows up there are ready for anything).
    She’s standing with one foot up on its heel, a horsehoof at rest : so elegantly her body adjusts the weight of her head : she takes a look at St Vincenzo, up, down, up again –
    then she turns on that heel and she’s off
    (not even a single glance at a single Cosmo by the way,
    just saying)
    and the boy’s sprung up on his own feet like a leveret and off he goes too after her, and me too helplessly dragging after him like one foot’s caught in the stirrup of a saddle on a horse I’m unfamiliar with who does not know or care for me : and as we go, out of the corner of my no-eye I see a picture by – Ercole, little Ercole the pickpocket, whom I loved and who loved me ! and wait – stop – is that, is it really? – dear God old Motherfather it’s Pisano, Pisanello, I know by the dark and the way it works the light.
    Look all you like, since I cannot, cause it is as if a rope attached to the boy is attached to me and has circled me and cannot be unknotted and where the boy goes I must go whether I want it or don’t, through a threshold, through another room – look! Uccello! horses! –
    I protest
    causethis ejection is against my will : I do not choose it.
    As soon as I discover to whom to complain I will do so, in a letter.
    To whichever illustrious most holy interceding Excellency it concerns, this nth day of n in the year nnnn.
    Most illustrious and excellent holy Lordship most inimitable and in perpetual honoured servitude : please deliver this petition of mine to God the Fathermother Motherfather One True Lord of All : I am the painter Franc. del C. who has made for Him in His honour and by His grace alone, so many works, of good materials, just saying, and done them with good honed skills, one of which said works I have witnessed is hung in His halls: and who worked alongside and as equal to other painters whose works also are hung in His halls : and here I make to Him my petition in the hope of His hearing me and granting me what little I ask : I –
    I what?
    I, having been shot back into being like an arrow but with no notion of the target at which He is aiming me, find myself now in this intermediate place, albeit in a neighbourhood of grand houses but all the same next to a very low very poor pieceof brickwork (which will not last 4 winters, by the way) with an unspeaking unseeing unhearing boy whose precipitate desires for a fine Lady he has seen in your Lord’s picture halls have dragged me very much against my will to this low wall away from the beauties of His palace, a place in which I should have liked to dwell for longer : but now find myself out in the cold grey and horseless world : such state of horselessness an unfortunate luck for its people, a creatureless world I thought until I saw the doves flying up in a flock like always, the same doves though greyer, filthy, squatter than, but all the same their wings and the clatter of birds were a salve even to a heart I no longer have.
    By this I recognize, most excellent Sir and Lord, that this is a purgatorium, perhaps even your picture palace is a level of this purgatorium : and my St Vincenzo Ferreri panel, for my blasphemous sin of depicting Christ as older than 33, has resulted in the being placed, both picture and painter, in purgatorium as a reminder of my prideful wrong imagining (though consider, illustrious Lordship, that if this is so, then only 1 of my pictures has ended up in purgatorium, and there are 4 of Cosmo’s there, which in the end demonstrates Cosmo’s work as 4 times more blameworthy than mine, just saying).
    Having myself been, I can only presume, formerly until