My Years With Proust - Day 508

   On the days when I did not go down to Mme de Guermantes, so that time should not hang too heavy for me during the hour that preceded Albertine's return, I would take up an album of Elstir's work, one of Bergotte's books, or Vinteuil's sonata.  Then, just as those works of art which seem to address themselves to the eye or ear alone require that, if we are to appreciate them our awakened intelligence shall collaborate closely with those organs, I would unconsciously summon up from within me the dreams that Albertine had inspired in me long ago before I knew her and that had been quenched by the routine of everyday life.  I would cast them into the composer's phrase or the painter's image as into a crucible, or them to enrich the book that I was reading.  And no doubt the latter appeared all the more vivid in consequence.  But Albertine herself gained just as much by being thus transported from one into the other of the two worlds to which we have access and in which we can place alternately the same object, by escaping thus from the crushing weight of matter to play freely in the fluid spaces of the mind.  I found myself suddenly and for an instant capable of passionate feelings for this wearisome girl.  She had at that moment the appearance of a work by Elstir or Bergotte, I felt a momentary ardour for her, seeing her in the perspective of imagination and art.

Marcel Proust, The Captive, pp. 49-50

So much of Remembrance of Things Past is taken up by the love affair between Marcel and Albertine, but in some ways I feel as perplexed by it than the first day he saw her.  It seems to be more about jealousy and/or possession and/or power and/or recapturing his mother's love and/or recapturing his grandmother's memory than about some pristine love (not that either of us would ever know).  In this passage Proust introduces another factor: the relationship between Albertine and art, or at least the relationship between Proust's perception of art and his perception of Albertine. "She had at that moment the appearance of a work by Elstir or Bergotte, I felt a momentary ardour for her, seeing her in the perspective of imagination and art."  I suppose we're all reminded of a lover by songs or paintings.  I know I've talked about songs I associate with women before: Neil Young's Winterlong and Cinnamon Girl and Cowgirl in the Sand; Kathleen Edwards's Summerlong and Empty Threat; the Cranberries' Linger; Ryan Adams's Please Do Not Let Me Go; Lucinda Williams's Minneapolis and Those Three Days and Right in Time, etc (I'll leave out the names of the women I associate with the memories to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent; you know who you are).  It seems I associate less paintings clearly with women, but I suspect that it because music is more ethereal and thus subjective. That said, there are several, of which I'll include these two paintings from Matisse and the Sargent I love so much.

Proust builds upon this notion, however, and discusses how we see our lovers in works of art, and how we bring those works of art into how we see our lovers. "I would unconsciously summon up from within me the dreams that Albertine had inspired in me long ago . . . [and I] would cast them into the composer's phrase or the painter's image as into a crucible, or them to enrich the book that I was reading.  And no doubt the latter appeared all the more vivid in consequence." What is more, "Albertine herself gained just as much by being thus transported from one into the other of the two worlds to which we have access . . ."  Either way, our relationship to art and our relationship to our lovers is based on our perception and memory of imaginary creations.