Dark. Moving padfoot, between flashes and dazzle. And the divine forms of Hermes, lit by torches votive, oscillate between the shadow and the dark, in the blinding white of the marble waving to the eye: that young curvy looks like alive. White powder by the light of torches: the master sculpts, thinking to the altar of God and to the sacrifices of maidens from Athens, pure white bandages in her hair. And dark again.

Inside a house in Pompeii, an artist paints oil lit a bushy foliage adorned with Bacchus from tendrils and clusters, while the Lares observe silent and impluvium fall rain drops and then lapilli. Nestled in the Earth, the disciples stomp lands and lapis lazuli, because the picture and Master in perspective: divine gift that will be forgotten in Golden blades of the altars, candles in the dark of the soul, which contrasts with the gold backgrounds. That Lady of messer da Buoninsegna, from his shiny, flat Paradise, look away and not see the poor who prays in the dark, before the Sun shower of color the large stained glass windows of the Cathedral.

And here is light and light yet; and back to the sky, where first sparkled gold. Giotto makes the backdrop: reborn in perspective. Follows the flamboyance of a Renaissance Court brief, how short is the light of the night in a thousand magnificent chandeliers, where a young man named Michelangelo gives his first shots of chisel and then lies down on his back on the bare wood scaffolding, alone with God, the dusky light of Papal Roman candles, to paint a ceiling of Sibyls and Prophets.

Meanwhile, the cards sizzle to fire the lumen of Master da Vinci, who, never sated, it burns at night thoughts and genius that is not enough, while Lisa smiles, mysterious landscape background. Flashed: Titian and is dark again. A dip, then, deep in thought and suffer, grazing light of flaring flames since Caravaggio and illuminate the wrists of Madonnas commoners against the light. The flame enters the picture and illuminates an Interior, crosswise, to get lost in the darkness of the unknown corners of the painting, where no one ever will know what palpitations or lies Dumbledore.

And while thousands of innocent witches give prestige, burning, Inquisition, the expensive Rembrandt depicts the night watch; but it will soon have a few coins in his pocket and little light.

Then, the ballrooms of Venice, with the glitz of mysterious nighttime revelry of carnival masks, it consumes and victory soars ephemeral sea. Fairies light! The dazzling glory of Venetian painting, Tiepolo. Before lunges with his ships, he cajoles with laughter and torches. And then burns the France to revolt and, with the same fire made Empire, after illuminating the battlefield where thousands in the blood of heroes, while fondling the curvaceous shapes in dim light of Pauline Canova in skin tone Candide of the marble.

The fire of war still burn and drown in blood the art sopita, while gleaming in the portraits of Hayez, who speak the language of the lounges and memories. And shortly thereafter, in Paris, la vie de la Bohéme consumes in the novel dark lives of artists, in attics where Poverty meets art, feeble light dark oil.

However you look at the Sun and outdoors, in so many: he paints a clear Impression. But the Seine at night then is tinged with lanterns and laughter of drunks: here the Italian, here's Amedeo chasing Jeanne long-necked and portrays her, before it falls from above on the road because its beautiful Modì died in the cold, where the last candle has worn in the darkness of misery.

But that and other roads now shine with light at night so there's Picasso that rule and is rich and the light shines in your eyes and in the paintings with her beautiful pink and blue clowns ... and then everything moves, everything moves faster in the future and in dual war again, in sound and expression that flashes and obscure, while is now as distant lonely echo of a gunshot among the wheat under a sky that turbine and glows.

And then? Then again in so many expensive light bulbs at night, small and great, great artists, yesterday ranks. And today? We are asking that those lights off for one day and back to darkness, like it was yesterday or back again. We light up less, but we use on the other, because the mystery of art does not require mai to too much light.