Paris Stories (continued) -- Part VIII
They spent the late morning together, drinking delicious coffee at
one of their favorite cafés.
Auburn hues, and bold aromas drifted down avenues—fragrance wafting in the city air. Life’s rhythm slowed down in such moments; they
would think back later and realize the magic of love sets aside time like an
invisible hand.
By midday the streets of the arrondissement bustled with weekend activity.
Separate Paris lives bumped into one another, in close
proximity but with uniqueness; like red-blood cells coursing through the body’s
arteries.
City dwellers’ living kinship, the concord of the masses: coexisting diversity, common values, the momentum of time, and a collaborative friendliness pervaded most of the neighborhoods along the Seine, at least those frequented by artists.
City dwellers’ living kinship, the concord of the masses: coexisting diversity, common values, the momentum of time, and a collaborative friendliness pervaded most of the neighborhoods along the Seine, at least those frequented by artists.
“I’m peaceful right now, Char.” “It’s hard to put to
words, but exploration has exploded my creative boundaries.”
They were long on both intimacy and communication, a powerful duo.
“Tell me how, Gabriel,” smiling, waiting expectantly for his
answer.
“Its heart is energy,”
he told her, “from my center, creativity hisses like a volcano; the earth’s
about to crack open.” He continued, “there’s definitely a pressure building,”
“It’s a mysterious force.”
Gabriel continued, “when I feel most accomplished, besides
when I’m with you; is when the creative explosion erupts but I can still grab
hold of it, use it!”
She loved his explanations, because she was pretty sure the
wheels in his beautiful mind always spun.
“I didn't know the power of my thoughts; what to do
with them?”
“I knew I was different but by secondary school, my
classmates let me know for sure!” (winking)
“I miss Middle School,” deadpanned Charlotte.
She added, “Like I miss having Poison Ivy.”
He barked, “being different in secondary school… like being
sent to the gulag—you’re labeled… doomed!” "Condamné."
“The hidden fruit finally came to the forefront, didn’t it?”
Charlotte said.
“Thank God,” he replied.
Charlotte said, ironically, “I’m not trying to conform
anymore, myself.”
“I want to be different, but I’m not sure making a living is something I should ignore,” Charlotte confided, “but if I devote all
my time & energy to a law practice, there won’t be anything left for
myself, for my art?”
Charlotte concluded, “Working in the law won’t give me the
buzz that expressing myself does, artistically.”
Gabriel said, “Stimulus doesn’t pay the bills, Charlotte;” showing,
maybe a firmer understanding of economics than
she gave him credit for?
“But legal expression isn’t the same,” she concluded, “As a
lawyer you have to say what your client wants you to say, or what they need you
to say.” “And you have to fight for causes you don’t believe in!”
“The worst is when you know your client is lying to you.” He
could tell she was agitated.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Char,”
[Did Gabriel mean that he had a better grip on the art business than she did?]
He believed Charlotte’s work as an amateur laid the
groundwork for a long career as a professional artist.
“You’ve got the
self-control,” continuing, “You’ll know when it’s time to quit Lawyering; the
art will meet the artist, when the writer is ready.”
“Keep exploring, Char, and drink from the waters of
creativity,” Gabriel seemed confident. “You’re on the right path, I'm sure of it.”
“I just read Ayn Rand, she said that art is… 'a selective
re-creation of reality, according to the artist’s metaphysical value
judgments'.” “Isn’t that cool?” she said. This might be where Gabriel's English language skills broke down?
“The purpose of art is to exhibit and concretely make known,
the artist’s fundamental view of existence,” “which I think is so evident in
your drawings, Gabriel.” He was flattered, but also flummoxed.
Charlotte: “So, the metaphysics of your designs are made within the
principles of mathematics, geometry, and uniformity. The black-and-white is obvious when you look at your art; but at the same time, the art is
independent of the world’s measurements and reflects your own knowledge,
beliefs, feelings, and desires of how the world should be.” Gabriel was completely
focused; transfixed by this brilliant woman.
Image 2018 ©Charles Crumb via Facebook
“Maybe I know more than the casual observer, but to me drawing's a means of survival,” “a way to make sense of the world, your
life, how you think things should be. That which is internal still makes
its way onto the canvas!” After saying so much, she was physically spent—out of breath.
Gabriel just stared at her. He didn’t know what to say.
Most Frenchmen weren't as sapiosexual as he was at the moment.
But this vulnerability exposed him to great danger.
Most Frenchmen weren't as sapiosexual as he was at the moment.
But this vulnerability exposed him to great danger.
He felt like his skin was transparent, and she was gazing
right inside: into his beating heart.
"My art is my own language, Char; it's unconventional, but on its face it looks systematic, I know. It's learned from an apprentissage of my own mind; and a long period of experimenting, or doodling as you call it in English."
Gabriel proudly finished his speech: "I don't know if it's capital-A art; but it's neither a sob story, nor a confidential whisper. You're correct, Charlotte, my art is a translation of my personal life into visual terms. As weird as that looks."
"My art is my own language, Char; it's unconventional, but on its face it looks systematic, I know. It's learned from an apprentissage of my own mind; and a long period of experimenting, or doodling as you call it in English."
Gabriel proudly finished his speech: "I don't know if it's capital-A art; but it's neither a sob story, nor a confidential whisper. You're correct, Charlotte, my art is a translation of my personal life into visual terms. As weird as that looks."
Image 2018 ©Charles Crumb via Facebook
(Fair use of copyrighted work shown herein above is not an infringement of copyright law, 17 USC Sec.107)
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The video I'm posting to celebrate Part VIII is one of the sweetest love songs I've ever heard, slow dance: #TupeloHoney
https://youtu.be/3DbTIKHYwog
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Fiction ©Mark H. Pillsbury
Legal disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
