This was not the pose that Émile wanted, so I called to Sylvie for her to try an easy stand on the horse’s back since she would need to re-create it several times in order to capture the sketch.

Émile looked puzzled at the required pomp to mount His Majesty. So the horse would cooperate, Sylvie was required to address His Majesty by bowing to him before she began her routine. To an onlooker (and everyone but His Majesty), it is a comical gesture. After the bow, Sylvie walked him around the ring and stroked his mane and neck as she fed him carrots. If Father’s hints were to be believed, this horse was once a particularly randy king who seduced his entire court, so the idea that he is ridden for show is a rather interesting punishment.

Sylvie mounted His Majesty and they began their routine. Using her leg, Sylvie hooked onto the horse’s back, dangling on the side, her arms outstretched, the only thing holding her to the horse being the power of her legs. Next, as the horse galloped, Sylvie, in one swift move, stood on the horse’s back then flipped midair, landing in a perfect stand. In this simple stand, both horse and rider were completely one, Sylvie’s body rocking in time with His Majesty. While Émile could have chosen a more complicated flip, it was the face of the horse and rider so perfectly in sync that made this sketch so compelling.

“You try.” Émile handed me a charcoal. I gave him a quizzical look. I wasn’t an artist, but while Émile stood to the side watching Sylvie perform, I sketched the curves of the horse for him, the bob of his head rocking in perfect unison with Sylvie.

From my life in the shadows, I knew every corner of the circus. This intimate knowledge has provided me with a watcher’s eye, an artist’s gaze. “You want this pose,” I said to Émile, motioning to Sylvie in the moment just after she finished a flip when she was flushed like she had been happily ravaged. If you saw her up close, there would be sweat on her upper lip and forehead.

Immediately he sat down and began to sketch the outlines of Sylvie and the horse, attempting several versions to get the right amount of space on the canvas.

“The painting is so small.” I’d imagined the three paintings on large, dramatic canvases.

“I hate those giant things. My last painting was a hulking thing called The Vampire. I want to try something different. Honestly, I never know where the circus will be from week to week and I need to be able to carry everything.” He pointed to his case of paints.