How βTolerate Itβ Reflects Renoirβs Love and Obsession with Aline in Expedition 33
βI sit and watch you reading with your head low / I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed / I sit and watch you, I notice everything you do or don't do"
Renoir isnβt just observant. Heβs desperate. Trapped beneath the Monolith, isolated from everyone else and Aline. He goes back into the Canvas, not to condemn her, but to save her. Renoirβs obsession is constant. Aline is his axis. he doesnβt just see her, he studies her every detail, desperate to hold onto her even as she drifts further into the Canvas. He notices everything because heβs terrified of losing her.
"You're so much older and wiser and Iβ
Aline taught Renoir how to Paint. She is much more skilled than him.
βI wait by the door like iβm just a kidβ
Heβs forever at the threshold of her attention - present, hopeful, unchosen. He wants her to come home, to stop harming herself. He makes gommage happen cause thats the only way he can get her out of the Canvas. Or at least the only way he sees.
βUse my best colors for your portraitβ
Axon SirΓ¨ne. "She Who Plays with Wonder" he literally used his finest βcolorsβ (power, craft, Chroma) to paint her into being as an Axon. His worship made manifest. Renoir used his best colors - his art, his mastery - to immortalize her. he crafted an Axon that danced like her, played music like her, was meant to be her.
βLay the table with the fancy shitβ
Tisseur is a representation of Renoir. He is sewing and working for SirΓ¨ne. Making all the beautiful fabrics and clothes. Working in a dark dungeon just like Renoir is stuck underneath the Monolith in Renoirβs Drafts.
"And watch you tolerate it"
Aline didn't care about the Axon. She hated that he gommaged her creations. She made herself another version of him. Aline Painted Renoir as she wanted him to be, not as he is. Aline does love him very much but she's also angry at him for trying to make her leave the Canvas - to make her leave the last piece of Verso's soul she has.
βIf itβs all in my head tell me now / Tell me iβve got it wrong somehowβ
Renoirβs not asking if she loves him. heβs asking if his love is misdirected, if heβs twisting it into something monstrous without realizing. and thatβs the tragedy: aline does love him, but she canβt love the methods he uses.
βI know my love should be celebrated / but you tolerate itβ
Itβs about the rift between them, the fact that love was supposed to be a shared, mutual experience - a partnership - but the tragedies and the Canvas have made it feel like a struggle, like theyβre not on the same side. He said that it was supposed to be him and her, not her against him.
βI greet you with a battle heroβs welcomeβ
Renoir is celebrating Aline finally emerging from the Canvas. To him, it feels like the greatest victory, the moment heβs been fighting and suffering for. He greets her with overwhelming relief and devotion.
βI take your indiscretions all in good funβ
This is Renoirβs bitter, ironic acknowledgment of Alineβs βcheatingβ with the Painted Renoir.
βI sit and listen, I polish plates until they gleam and glistenβ
Renoir focuses on controlling what he can see and touch - the externals, the tangible parts of life and the Canvas - because he cannot directly heal the emotional and real wound at the core: the grief over their son and the fractures in his relationship with Aline.
βWhile you were out building other worlds, where was I?β
Aline, inside the Canvas, is not only creating another world - sheβs painting herself another family, trying to reconstruct the wholeness sheβs lost. In her grief, she fills the void with a world where her son still exists, where she isnβt left broken. But Renoir? He isnβt part of that picture. Heβs left outside. To him, it feels like sheβs moved into another life, another reality, one he has no place in.
βWhereβs that man whoβd throw blankets over my barbed wire?β
Renoir is looking at himself as much as heβs looking at Aline. He remembers the softness that once defined their love - the way he comforted her through grief instead of trying to rip it out of her. But now, instead of soothing, heβs resorted to gommage. Itβs a bitter, self-aware question: When did my love stop protecting you and start wounding you, even if I believe itβs to save you?
"I made you my temple, my mural, my skyβ
Itβs obsession born of desperation. Renoir has made Aline his axis: every Draft, every attempt at gommage, SirΓ¨ne is a structure heβs built around her, trying to force her back into life outside the Canvas. She is not just his inspiration - sheβs his reason to keep fighting under the Monolith. Making her his temple, mural, sky is his way of saying: Everything I do is in service of getting you out. Even if it makes you hate me.
βNow iβm begging for footnotes in the story of your lifeβ
This is the heartbreak. In the Canvas, Aline paints new lives, new families - she rewrites her story without him at the center. Renoir, trapped beneath the Monolith, feels erased. Heβs no longer the subject, no longer the partner - just a footnote in her painted world. His desperation is less about wanting glory and more about wanting a place. Heβs terrified sheβs rewriting reality without him in it.
βDrawing hearts in the bylineβ
Even when he knows heβs being pushed to the margins, he canβt stop. Renoir still sneaks in devotion wherever he can.
βAlways taking up too much space or timeβ
Renoir feels like his grief is suffocating hers, that his way of loving her β relentless, insistent, unwilling to let go β is overwhelming. He worries heβs crowding her even as heβs trying to save her. His presence feels like a burden.
βYou assume iβm fineβ
She assumes heβs fine, because he never lets her see the fracture lines. But inside, Renoir is unraveling. His devotion eats at him. His love is both salvation and wound.
βBut what would you do if i / break free and leave us in ruinsβ
This is Renoirβs unspoken threat to the Canvas itself - not to Aline. If she refuses to come out, if she refuses to see what the Canvas is doing to her, he will tear it all down. He will erase every world sheβs (as well as Verso and Clea) built, every Painted family, if thatβs what it takes to save her.
βTook this dagger in me and removed it / gain the weight of you then lose it / believe me, i could do itβ
The dagger is his grief, the wound of their lost son Verso. Carrying it has become his entire existence - but Renoir is saying he could let it go if she would just let him back in. He could put down his obsession, he could stop burning himself alive for herβ¦but only if she chose him over the Canvas.
βI sit and watch youβ
We end where we started: observation as devotion. no resolution, just repetition.








