"don't move," you said. "stay just like that." i was still holding the flowers, i wanted to put them in water before they died, but i soon forgot all about them. you dashed at the canvas with such energy it shook the easel. You plunged the brushes into the paint so fast that red and blue, black and white flew through the air. They swept me with them.
I suddenly felt as if I were taking off. You too were poised on one leg, as if the little room could no longer contain you. You soared up to the ceiling. Your head turned down to mine, and turned mine up to you brushing against my ear, and whispering something. Then together we floated up above the room with all its finery, and flew.
-Bella Chagall speaking of Marc Chagall's painting above
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