Wish granted
I'm standing in front of a large building I don't recognise.
Wait...
How did I get here?
I look down at my clothes. Why am I standing outside wearing pyjamas? Barefoot?
Am I dreaming?
I vaguely remember something, now. I was going to sleep when, on the cusp of sleep, I heard someone say, "Wish granted."
What wish?
I look up at the building and frown at the sign. The Royal Academy?
Curiosity drives me forward.
I enter the building, walking with an air of someone who belongs there.
I walk into a large rectangular room and marvel at the bright sunlight streaming in through a dome in the ceiling, art covering all available wall space.
It's busy. People walk back and forth, packages clenched under their arms. I hear a gruff sort of growl behind me, and someone bangs into my shoulder and walks on without a word.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!"
The culprit, a short, broad man with brownish hair peeking from under the rim of his top hat, doesn't even acknowledge me.
The man holds a small rectangular package under his left arm, wrapped in stained cloth. It has to be a painting!
In his left hand he holds a canvas bag, and I can see brushes stick out from the top.
A tall man with black hair rushes towards him from a room to the right and says, “Turner! What do you have for us this time, you daft so-and-so?”
Turner? Could it be...?
I take a deep breath, and grin when the man brushes past the tall man with the same callous disregard he showed me.
Laughter bubbles up in me. It can't be, and yet...
I know that I'm looking at J.M.W. Turner.
He's been my favourite artist ever since I saw his art on a couple of postcards during my first visit to London in my twenties.
I follow him. Someone directs him to another room and he walks in further, greeting several people with the same disregard he's shown me, at best giving them a growling hello.
He has to ask directions of two more people and he turns even more sour than he already was when he stops at his assigned spot.
He looks up at the paintings already on the wall. He growls and mutters something under his breath that makes another artist gasp and take off.
He grunts some more unintelligible words, sets down the bag, and cautiously pulls the cloth away from the canvas. He holds it up in the light and I freeze.
My hand moves to my throat, as if to remember myself to breathe towards it. I look at the painting and tears roll down my cheeks. I feel I’ve come alive.
I know the painting so well. A ship is depicted, being towed by a tugboat, all framed by a gorgeous sunset. I know that no matter how long I live, that sunset ignites my joy.
Someone walks up to him, and says, “What on earth is that?”
Turner turns to him, groans and says, “It’s ‘em towin’ da Tem’raire.”
He hangs up the painting and steps away for a moment. I immediately move in closer and stare up at a painting I've loved for so long, and tears start to roll down my face.
That painting is even more beautiful than it is in my time. And the sunset... Its vibrant reds and oranges burn me.
“Wotcher’ cryin’ bout?”
I clasp my hand over my mouth to not shriek, startled by Turner's voice.
I turn to him, and he looks at me with a tilted head, scowling.
I whisper, “This is the most perfect piece of art I have ever seen.”
He smiles like someone who is unused to doing so, twitching his muscles until only one corner of his mouth curves.
“Eh. I’ve dun be’er.”
He looks up at the painting, and then mutters something unintelligible before he hangs the canvas bag over his shoulder, the brushes clattering.
I smile and wonder if he’s going to change other people’s paintings. I've read about him that.
I could go watch him, but my eyes don’t want to leave the sunset.
I look up at the ceiling, and whisper, “Thank you for granting a wish I never knew I had.”
The voice giggles, "This is fun! Ready for some more artistic adventures?”
I smile and say, “This could take an eternity…”
“Come on! You have so many favourite artists to visit tonight. Next, the Sunflowers await!”
I think of my favourite van Gogh painting, and smile. “Five more minutes.”
Laughter tingles like church-bells as I settle to watch the Temeraire’s last journey once more.