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Gustave Caillebotte’s Brother Plays the Piano An air of ballet wets the keys and flutters the memories of etudes into a collection of Martial’s own puddling corpus. How the light tags the ivory as it depresses into the wood and releases violent and honeyed hums. He ponders Rene, dead eleven years now, his, and Gustave’s oils studying this room. Not a fortune could have kept Rene there, leaning on the piano in the study, asking himself where francs go when they die and looming over the streets of Paris, his body blocking the sun briefly, the room taut and dim. The two think: how life could breathe when Gustave’s friends posed a threat to the draped daffodils in the couch and swells of red velvet chairs, gilt. How that Monet monsieur left the window curtains an abrasion in the dust of their laze arts, flattering the cool Parisian air. O, but how sweet, a garden with the boys. The burgeoning masculinities of a new Paris, erect as Gustave’s habitually militant stance since the itching sobriety of warfare straightened his spine with fellow soldiers and loosened each stroke of his brush. How those rivers moved in his work, Martial recollects as his fingers press into the third movement—did old Gustave cage the Impressionist touch in those small dusks, each ripple stripping the scene of its definitude, pacing the wake of the oars as his fellows and he raced down the suburban Seine? Is this the new Paris to those thirteen years on with the kind of money that traces your footsteps into the grave? Will he paint this? Will Rene and Mother hide in the rising steam from Gustave’s and Claude’s Gare Saint Lazare? Their faces pressed against the glass of a new train? And what of Gustave’s burgeoning collection of poor Claude’s work? Where will it be written? Which will? Piano wood, whisper something true and strip the floorboards for Gustave. Paint into the husky breaths of the dead. Daniel Weiss Daniel Weiss is a writer, ceramicist, and archaeologist from River Forest, IL. He earned his B.A. in anthropology from Kenyon College in 2024, where he was an Associate at The Kenyon Review and co-founder of the student-run magazine FOCUS. As a field archaeologist, he cherishes the opportunity to meet the past in person, finding that archaeology's inherent relationship to nature and the passage of time heavily influences his work. His poetry appears in Shadowplay and Wayfarer Magazine.
1 Comment
Cathryn
12/17/2025 05:01:10 pm
A really neat work of art history! I love the sense of death and dreariness that is living in the modern world, juxtaposed with ephemeral materials of the piano. The outside world of Steel and Stone, the insides revealing a more human element of mortality; Wood, Ivory, Linens, rot whether we observe the principles of Taylor or not. The steel Train progresses to the station at its predestined time. The music of the young man shall never reach our distant ears.
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January 2026
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