By John Newton
1915 – The First Picture
In late afternoon sun The Artist stands on his veranda watching the Mediterranean push small waves ashore, his mind working on various shades of shimmering blue.
His attention turns to a young woman walking barefoot along the beach, carrying tiny pink shoes in one hand, and a sun parasol in the other.
He squints to study better the softly swaying material of her purple and pink ankle-length skirt. She comes gracefully towards his gate, long toes flicking up white grains of sand.
She walks up the path between pale hibiscus, red roses and nodding green grasses.
His heart beats faster at this riot of colour and he fights an urge to rush to his studio and paint before the vision flees his mind.
The young woman waves.
At last he looks at her face; later described as elfin. A sweet smile, honey-coloured hair unfashionably long and almost perfect bone structure. Precisely what he has been seeking for months.
The Artist steps down to meet her.
‘Hallo,’ she says. ‘I’m a journalist. I want to interview you.’
‘Come in,’ he says.
She writes for a prestigious Paris art magazine. Over coffee he pretends to answer her questions.
She stays the night and next morning, at dawn, agrees to be his Model and Muse.
1925 – The Second Picture
Walking just after dawn along the pebbled beach at Cagnes, The Artist watches early swimmers abandoning the chill water for warmth and the rising sun.
He studies them stumbling on the occasional sharp pebble, shoulders hunched, bodies twisting away from the pain. He watches them rub down hard and buff vigorously their heads, before stretching on pebbles or beach bed to soak up the bright sunlight.
The sketchpad in his mind works at furious speed, preparing images and colours to be painted before noon.
He watches a swimmer racing back to shore through a cloud of sparkling spray. She reaches the shallows and stands.
He sighs in delight at her beautifully constructed face. White skin shaped by perfect cheekbones below a wide brow. To his artist’s eye her long shape – not over-muscled – fits precisely into the frame he would use to paint the picture he planned the moment he saw her rise from the sea.
Before she finishes towelling he offers a café crème and croissant.
They sit together and chat across a spindly table on the promenade edge.
Recognising him, she says, ‘I thought you had long hair.’
He rubs his scalp.
He says, ‘My curls and I are parting company.’
She laughs.
After a second café crème and two more croissants, she agrees to be his Model and Muse.
1945 – The Third Picture
Bored and wondering how to get out of this dull gathering, of second-rate painters and dealers, The Artist sits on a hard sofa, his frustration at being trapped almost boiling over.
A very small young woman approaches and sits next to him.
‘You don’t look very happy, she says.’
‘I’ve no reason to be.’
She giggles.
‘But you have. I hear you sold your last painting for thirty million dollars. Is that right?’’
‘Probably. I never know. My agent will tell me.’
He turns and stares at this upstart, so tiny he feels a brisk breeze would blow her away.
With a sweet smile she offers a hand.
He takes it; afraid to press hard on fingers so delicate they could be a bundle of twigs encased in silken skin.
Looking into her large round eyes his artist’s intuition senses deep and abiding avarice.
Her head looks almost too large for such a slight frame.
He finds sudden fascination in a slightly uneven face – broad forehead; those big eye sockets; that pointed chin and the short cut jet black hair worn as a hat – all combine in the perfect shape for one of his lopsided paintings.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s not waste time here.’
They slip out and he takes her to supper.
Even before dessert she agrees to be his Model and Muse.
1975 – The Auction
The Auctioneer taps his gavel.
The murmur of intellectual conversation dies away.
The Auctioneer starts his pre-sale pitch.
‘We have only three paintings for you today. Although painted twenty-five years apart they are always bought, sold and held as a trio, known as Behind The Painted Smile. According to The Late Artist’s will, they must never be separated.
‘The first picture, from 1915, entitled Girl In A Blue Dress is considered to be a sombre study of the end of marriage. The model – his wife and a famous writer– is painted with a carefully contrived half smile giving us a hint of their life of conflict. She sits, head tilted, drawing our gaze to those ruby lips and sad eyes.
‘Only days later she abandoned The Artist. She fled, taking their baby son.
‘We can only wonder that The Artist’s early talent showed the depth of her distress with a few subtle hints and simple brushstrokes.
‘The second picture, from 1925, entitled Girl From The Beach shows a young woman he met during his morning stroll. As an international swimmer, her stunning physique fitted precisely a series of planned paintings.
‘She became his constant companion and lover for eight years, modelling many famous paintings, but disliked the way he destroyed her beauty during his Surrealist period. This picture is an example. Note the enormous bust and nose, neither of which she had. And one large blue eye set on her cheekbone, the other, painted green, staring from the centre of her forehead.
‘Observe the thickly painted lips, that we see as a frustrated grimace or grin. The Artist shows her inner disquiet with astonishing skill.
‘A year later she hanged herself from a tree in their garden. Although he had professed great love, The Artist showed no remorse and never spoke of her again.
‘The third picture, from 1945, entitled Girl On A Garden Chair is of an unknown woman The Artist came to hate. It is said that they met when she accosted him at a party and brazenly asked how much his latest painting sold for. He professed not to know, but spellbound by her tiny body, outsized eyes and almost heart shaped face, persuaded her to become his Model and Mistress.
‘He soon realised that her abiding passion – money – ruled her life and began to take over his. She sat only five times during their eight months together and took more than thirty paintings when she left, apparently filching from his chaotic store on a regular basis.
‘This final picture he painted of her cleverly demonstrates his utter dislike. He shows her face as an ugly triangle tipped at an angle that jars with the rest of a symmetrical portrait. In obvious insult he places her large round eyes as awkward almonds, one standing on end, the other laying across her left cheek.
‘And he paints her smile as a sudden V in two sardonic coils past her nose and cheekbones. Is he indicating, perhaps, the classic pencil-thin moustache of the conman?
‘The paintings this woman took have turned up at auction during various times since The Artist’s death. So we assume that the mysterious lady in question has become very rich.’
The Auctioneer gazes down, knowing his audience is poised and primed.
In two seconds he will hit them with the opening price.
A rear door opens.
A tiny woman slips through and takes the only remaining seat.
The Auctioneer has time to note her short-cut jet-black hair, large eyes under a broad forehead and oddly pointed chin.
He takes a deep breath.
‘Our opening price is eighty million dollars.’
The tiny woman flicks up a finger and The Auction starts.
Author Bio:
I’m always interested in writing short stories with a different style and with a hint of historical content.
Contact Author:
Email: nbi.john@gmail.com
