he wanted he continued to work on and on.
"This is just the shape, the outline," he
explained. "We're going to spend a lot of time
discussing the expression on your face, how I want
you to look, your eyes, your mouth. The best way to
do that is to get you to think of something in your own
past that will fit this, some event, some moment, some
thoughts and experiences."
"Just as I told you: art isn't in a world by itself,"
I quipped smugly. He paused and smiled.
"All right. Don't be a smartass," he said and we
both laughed.
Maybe I would be able to do this. Maybe I
would be able to relax and help him create his greatest
work, I thought.
"Break," he called after nearly another hour. He
brought me a large bath towel to drape over my
shoulders, and put on some water for tea. The towel
covered my shoulders and bra. I used it to wipe the
perspiration from my face and neck.
"It really is work just standing still," I said. He
nodded.
"I'd rather be on this side of the brush," he
admitted. "You take sugar, right?"
"Just one teaspoon, thank you."
"You know, what you were telling me about
May and her questions is exactly the sort of thing I'm
after here," he said. He sat at the small table and I sat
on a stool beside him. "She's emerging out of
childhood into the first stages of womanhood. Can