To be in the shadow of one so large was close to being in the sunshine.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
There are none but rented houses in this world. Why should we try to keep one? Our true home is north, at the North Star. If we kept a home on earth, we would only have to give it back. We rent the house of this body, do we not?
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
Was this my important life? Or was there another that had eluded me? My days had all come down to this: ghost brush, muse, and nursemaid to the great man. As he faded, my love grew stronger. If I ever wondered what it was for, this endless labor, this ill-paid work, I had only to look at his beloved face and know I would do anything to disguise the helplessness there.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
I wondered what he thought of me and then realized that I know: he did not think of me. He was used to me, that was all.
So it fell to me to think of myself. What was I like? I was not in the habit of thinking of myself as separate from him, from anyone. I was ugly, I supposed, but I was smart and ready with my tongue. And with my brush I could do whatever he expected. That seemed to be enough.
So it fell to me to think of myself. What was I like? I was not in the habit of thinking of myself as separate from him, from anyone. I was ugly, I supposed, but I was smart and ready with my tongue. And with my brush I could do whatever he expected. That seemed to be enough.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
Sometimes the world itself goes quiet in honor of some change of state. This was the case now; it was the beginning of the end of my childhood. Dawn waited as we walked. I looked back. My father did not.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
All humans are slaves. I grant you that women have no freedom, except those freedoms men allow them. But men themselves are playthings of the gods. They may run the world. But in the end, the world is an illusion and their power is smoke.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
Here my father laughed. I knew his laugh better than my own. It was a laugh not heartless but mirthless, a laugh that saw everything and presumed nothing. He was no romantic. He laughed as if he were a free man, and he laughed with rue because he wasn’t.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
The wind was high. It plowed a furrow in the water. This was the beginning of a wave. The wave rose higher and then it was too high for itself. Before it broke, it began to pour. Clear water ran smooth as satin from the top froth to join in the indigo swirl below.
“
| — | The Printmaker’s Daughter by Katherine Govier |
