Portrait of Vivi (October 2022)

Vivi was a whirlwind of energy, of dynamic bustle, of passion for life. Yes, her life looked idyllic, her zest remarkable, but as she honestly stated, she only shared a part of it, so the view was spectacular, controlled, a window into the fun stuff. The side that drew you toward her, that made you want to know her better, see if her aura could spread, even repair your own lesser charmed existence.

She went beyond age, her spirit ever youthful, her physicality reflecting a woman in her late forties still flourishing as she fed her whims, what her soul desired, and yes, she was beautiful. She was quintessentially Spanish, the flamenco, the sultry tones of Andalucía, the elegance and richness of rapid modern life under the lens spilling out of all she did. She had embraced it, made it part of her daily routine. Of course, her cup was overflowing with the wisdom and vibrancy of experience. She knew what many people did not, that it fed the deepest parts of us, quenched a thirst that some sadly didn’t even know could exist. That was why she travelled, shared it all, evolved through the uncovering of other lives and their cultures.

She danced, she frolicked on the beach, she had daughters and many friends, and lit up people’s lives, whether via social media or the rooms she shared with the folks who crossed her path. Who lit her life that way? A man or a woman? Or was it travel and the places and the freedom and the rush that came with that that did it to her? Her wings taking her any place she chose, her merely listening to the calling and then taking flight.

Sometimes you looked your age, sometimes you looked much younger. You were locked into such a lifestyle it could only keep you younger than your years. The freedom did you good. You might be single, alone in many of the photos, but your partner was life itself, every photo you had sent me showing you to be in an eternal embrace with the richness of the days, gracefully, elegantly, sexily waltzing towards the precipice, reaching it, turning back, spinning like you had been born to do so, living on the edge of some grandiose fairy tale. Nobody, and nothing, was missing from the photos. You had not defined yourself by having someone beside you and whom exactly that might be. I wondered if your two daughters had half the lust for life that you did (or if they would grow into that space as you clearly had). If so, they would be lucky to take that into the future with them.

Your smile was easy, your shape spectacular. The dancing, the Spanish and foreign cuisine, the time spent outdoors – illuminating in its richness – and the fashioning of a contemporary social animal had all built a woman that would turn heads. As your dyed dark blonde hair flowed, a waterfall that flew from your head as you danced and span, catching everyone’s eye in a loving tornado.

The selection of photos of you that you had fed me were like a visual paella, the array of flavours, the senses piqued, the imagination running wild, craving more of you, to see, to taste, to feel.

Your style was modern, classy, elegant, a rich palette of fashion and knowledge of what looked good, both in general and on your own luscious frame.

The TikTok videos showed your sense of fun and connection with modern technological life. I was younger than you but did not partake of such cyber activities. They were not for everyone. You liked to display that side of your life, the vitality, pouring it all over the viewers, spectators even, and giving them something to put a smile on their faces, or even get them excited in other ways. Okay, so I did not like the music you sang along to on your videos or having an entire life shared on social media, but at least yours was colourful, a reminder of what was out there beyond our doors, in other climes.

I didn’t know how tall you were from the photos, nor what eye colour you possessed. Your eyes were different colours, reflecting your surroundings, your mood, your aura in that moment, like the sea often echoing the sky and environment perfectly. When I ask you via a chat app, you reply that your eye colour is miel verdoso azulado, an interesting label to say the least. A golden honey ring in the interior that mixes with green and as it reaches the edges it appears blue. Her eyes echo the life in her soul, the vibrant nature of her exploration of the planet and her place moving through it, always returning to her homeland of Spain.

You were never more sumptuous than when you wore heels – which you clearly loved wearing and moving in – and a flowing dress that would frequently explode into life as you, a human spinning top, pierced the rooms you lit up, a firecracker demanding attention, to be seen, to be heard, to be adored.

The lines on your face honestly commencing a dialogue about your age were no shame to you, but a badge of honour less commonly recognised these days. You were proud of your age, your figure, your existence. It was a grand acceptance of the beauty and honour, the extreme privilege, in being allowed to age. As should be, it could be felt in your every move, drawing eyes wherever you stepped, something you knew well. This aspect of you was highly attractive.

One TikTok video had caught my eye. She was fully decked out in black, heels to die for, that men would let her walk all over their bodies with, and a dress that hugged her figure and exploded downwards from her waist, completing the bombshell visage. Nothing was tame, everything here was devastating, a perplexing combination of elegance and sensuality. She was flooring the room, wiping everyone out, reducing men to rubble, leaving them on their knees, even performing that tablecloth trick with the floor itself, everyone left falling. She was a relentless force, like the wind or the waves, and would only stop moving when she decided to, not when anything got in her way.