Stendhal Syndrome:
psychosomatic illness that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion, and uncontrollable weeping when an individual is exposed to particularly beautiful works of art. Named for 19th century French author, Stendhal " the pen name of Henri-Marie Beyle " who described what he felt when confronted with the collection at the Uffizi Gallery, in Florence, Italy.
One morning, in mid-July of his 30th year of life, Oliver Granger woke up and started crying. It was quite an unusual thing for him, a man not prone to such outward displays of emotions. A smile from Ollie was as rare as hen's teeth, anger slightly more common, but weeping" Not since he was ten years old; not since he learned that tears meant harder backhands from his father. But on this particular morning, Ollie realised that for the first time in more years than he could remember that he was well and truly happy. Ecstatic, really, all things considered.
Who wouldn't be, given his circumstances" His career as a painter had taken off, thanks to a gallery owner who believed in him and had risked her reputation and that of her gallery to dedicate an entire installation to his work. His family situation, while never quite stable, was as good as could be expected, better in some quarters than in others. Best of all, he'd found love, something he'd never dreamed of being blessed with.
He rolled out of bed and dressed quickly for his morning exercise " press-ups, crunches, time with both the speed bag and the heavy bag, then a five-mile run, before coming home to shower and eat. He lingered over his tea, staring at the mostly-finished canvas that was quickly hidden away whenever Piper came over. It would be his wedding gift to her and it was currently a source of a vast array of very complicated emotions.
He'd heard of painters who had personal Muses, those mythical figures " usually women " who were immortalised in dozens of pieces, whose every curve and plane, gesture and expression were captured in canvas after canvas. While he understood it on an intellectual level, he'd never been in a position to dedicate a large part of his portfolio to a single subject, and he'd always thought it was incredibly limiting. Now, however....The walls of his studio were lined with canvases and sheets of parchment and scraps of cheap paper that featured only one subject: Piper Davidson.
"Stendahl syndrome,? he whispered softly, his teacup half-way to his mouth as his paused in sudden recognition of his feelings. He smiled and set the cup down on the kitchen counter, forgotten as soon as it left his fingers. Quickly crossing the room, he picked up the palette, added generous amounts of ebony, cobalt, cyclamen, and ivory, mixed them to his liking and went to work on the piece.
http://img197.imageshack.us/img197/8767/pipers.gif
One morning, in mid-July of his 30th year of life, Oliver Granger woke up and started crying. It was quite an unusual thing for him, a man not prone to such outward displays of emotions. A smile from Ollie was as rare as hen's teeth, anger slightly more common, but weeping" Not since he was ten years old; not since he learned that tears meant harder backhands from his father. But on this particular morning, Ollie realised that for the first time in more years than he could remember that he was well and truly happy. Ecstatic, really, all things considered.
Who wouldn't be, given his circumstances" His career as a painter had taken off, thanks to a gallery owner who believed in him and had risked her reputation and that of her gallery to dedicate an entire installation to his work. His family situation, while never quite stable, was as good as could be expected, better in some quarters than in others. Best of all, he'd found love, something he'd never dreamed of being blessed with.
He rolled out of bed and dressed quickly for his morning exercise " press-ups, crunches, time with both the speed bag and the heavy bag, then a five-mile run, before coming home to shower and eat. He lingered over his tea, staring at the mostly-finished canvas that was quickly hidden away whenever Piper came over. It would be his wedding gift to her and it was currently a source of a vast array of very complicated emotions.
He'd heard of painters who had personal Muses, those mythical figures " usually women " who were immortalised in dozens of pieces, whose every curve and plane, gesture and expression were captured in canvas after canvas. While he understood it on an intellectual level, he'd never been in a position to dedicate a large part of his portfolio to a single subject, and he'd always thought it was incredibly limiting. Now, however....The walls of his studio were lined with canvases and sheets of parchment and scraps of cheap paper that featured only one subject: Piper Davidson.
"Stendahl syndrome,? he whispered softly, his teacup half-way to his mouth as his paused in sudden recognition of his feelings. He smiled and set the cup down on the kitchen counter, forgotten as soon as it left his fingers. Quickly crossing the room, he picked up the palette, added generous amounts of ebony, cobalt, cyclamen, and ivory, mixed them to his liking and went to work on the piece.
http://img197.imageshack.us/img197/8767/pipers.gif