Sarah lights up the screen. We
discuss our recent times – the last day or two – and the breakneck speed of
everything. Our words share a much more relaxed tempo. Sarah puts a flask of
coffee to her mouth – coffee with milk – spilling some, which might be down to
the distraction of my presence, and then giggling sweetly about it.
Her face is beautiful, the perfect
tonic for the Christmas madness that both she and I clearly have circling us,
vulture-like. Sarah has on a pink hooded cardigan with furry lining for the chilly
winter months – she says her building is old – and it zips up. She briefly
stands up to show it, a tiny glimpse of her figure through the thick clothing,
but it leaves me curious, a curiosity first instigated by telling me about her recent
skinny-dipping outing in one of our first ever conversations around eighteen
months ago. Since then, we have grown to know each other via a work context and
a gentle exchange of information.
Sarah is a cat lover, and she is
observing her cat, which leads to a discussion about allergies and the
superiority of her cat over others. A tail later appears in the shot, belonging
to her cat, even if I do ask, thereby suggesting otherwise.
Sarah’s big blue eyes are to fall
over oneself looking at, as they softly devour the scene of me writing. I talk
a lot. Sarah knows that. So, I ask how she feels about these silences as I pen
sentences. She answers that this scenario is different, in my multitasking, and
it is of course necessary to focus, in silence at times. She looks at her phone
as I write soundlessly. Since day one she has been a peaceful light, ever illuminating
life through a screen, always a joyful presence. Perhaps if we ever met the
illusion would be broken, a mirror smashed into pieces delivering seven years
of bad luck to add to any we already had, and yes, we did appear to have some
of that, with that type of thing lurking everywhere, dying to pounce.
Sarah says she will do some painting
over the Christmas period and not meet up with her family. They had been
together recently for her father’s birthday and now a quiet Christmas with just
her boyfriend approaches. Something she is more than happy to welcome.
Sarah’s hair is dark blonde. It is
tied back, loosely, soft clumps of hair effortlessly and messily strewn around
her face, over her ears, enticing one to carefully reach behind her head, grab
her hairband, and tenderly remove it, revealing her hair and how it would fall.
Her smile is stunning. It’s the most
beautiful German smile I have ever encountered, and I have now lived in Germany
for over eight years. Her teeth line up perfectly side by side and elevate her
smile to a higher plain.
We then discuss art, Banksy, Rothko,
a cat (not hers this time) enters the conversational scene again, and Sarah switches
on her delectable laugh again, renewing the excitement in her author. She has
features that are delicate, her nose and cheeks flawless in size, lips that do
not pout but succinctly praise the air as it brushes past them. I wish I could
place my eyes upon her face more often.
We then move on to talking about
portraits and how people react to the proposition and the intensity of art and
the creators. It leads to a story about an intense neighbour who had written
and sung a song about and pursued Sarah in frightening fashion. She was happy
to leave that moment, and that scary fellow, behind.
As for the portraits, we then explore
the idea of making them more graphic, further embellishing the literary aspect
and finding a second point of connection with people in a time when words often
seem less meaningful than ever (this is neither my point of view nor Sarah’s,
it just looks to be the case). Making these explorations of individuals and
groups more visual, the possible use of a painter to work around the literary
prose, might just be the perfect coupling.
Sarah has her chin resting on her
hand, which is supported by her other hand. Her face is so sweet, not adoring
of me but patient and soft. Her colouring is leaning towards the pink of her
top. She is glowing, full of natural healthy colour, vibrant, festive, joyful.
We talk about make up and styling
hair and what beauty really is. Sarah is completely natural, making no special
effort and flourishing, the type of woman whose beauty speaks, whose charms are
there to be seen rather than hiding elsewhere. I wondered if people could see
it though, with her unassuming way. Under my artistic gaze she is one of the
most calm and easy presences. She is relaxed, she is all mine in this moment.
I am mesmerised, eating her alive
with words, wishing I knew how to stretch time out to last much longer, to keep
a moment alive whilst simultaneously being aware that that would mean it lost
its profound magic.
Lockdown and the Covid situation come
up in conversation, as they always do these days, though we swiftly move on
from such a depressing subject, the feeling that it didn’t quite belong inside
our contented shared bubble at this exact juncture.
Sarah is a keeper. I wish our paths
would also cross in the physical world and that she would be my muse and I
could truly encapsulate her beauty, that I could undress her with my words,
wrap them around her, and engrave her in people’s minds. From the moment I
first set my eyes on Sarah, I knew that she was portrait-worthy, original
enough to call to me, and someone to get to know at greater length.
Her boyfriend will surely admire her
portrait, harvested by another man’s hands, and with any luck it captures
something of the delightful lady he shares his life with. For life is short,
and we must seize and acknowledge beauty at all quarters, pouncing upon inspiration
whenever it appears.
