NONFICTION

Chapter Four — Two Artists in an Attic

In Search of the Magical Other — 4

Later that morning, we arrived at the young man’s house. It was an older older looking house with moss growing on the cedar shakes of the roof. It was a house that had a lot of character. The house wasn’t large, yet it wasn’t too small. It didn’t look like the house of someone not to be trusted. I began to think maybe we would be okay here until I could get a real job and take care of Sandi in our own home.

The man pointed to the gable window looking out onto the street, telling us it was where we could stay if we took him up on his offer. He was adamant that we didn’t decide until we had seen the room. He told us to stay the night and we could let him know our decision the next day.

Sandi could barely sit still in her excitement — an artist’s garret, just like what one hears about and reads about from the lives of famous painters. When the man showed us the room, he told us that he wanted floor to ceiling murals on two walls, the taller walls. He told us we could paint anything we wanted using whatever kind of paint we wanted to use.

He would buy the art materials since the two murals were going to be his in the end. I suggested we use acrylic paints so the pictures would dry faster and not give problems in the damp air. Sandi wanted to use oil paints. Before the ideas were out of our mouths the man said, we could try both media and decide as we went along. He suggested that I start on one wall while Sandra worked on the opposite wall, both of us using different media.

The idea surprised both Sandi and I. I didn’t see myself as an artist, nor did Sandi. This was her territory. I could see a hint of resentment in her eyes. Seeing her expression the young man convinced Sandi that we should give it a try. He told Sandi she could always paint over my botched work when her wall was completed.

She was the boss, and it was her decision in the end what would be on the walls. Those were the magic words for her to hear. She was the boss, the artist in charge. Sandi said, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Her face beamed with a big grin. We dropped our things in the room and then went to an art supply shop with the man. He bought us a large selection of brushes and paints as well as a selection of paints. The artist supplies store wasn’t far from the house. The shop owner was told that as we needed more paint, it was okay to put them on a bill which the man would pay later.

The man then showed us where we could buy our groceries nearby. And then I began to realise the big hole in the picture. It took money to buy groceries and even though we had some money now, it wasn’t going to last that long. I still needed to get a job.

Sandi was against my leaving to look for work. She convinced me to wait for a while, to paint with her in the house. For the next few weeks we did nothing but talk of scenes and try to bring the scenes to the walls. Sandra suggested we leave our clothes off so they wouldn’t be ruined while painting.

Her suggestion made sense as we didn’t have money to spend on clothing. What money we has was needed for food. So we lived and worked without wearing clothes, only putting them on when we got invited downstairs for a meal on the main floor, or to a meal at a nearby restaurant.

It wasn’t as hard as I had expected to make the shift from clothed to nude. Despite the constant urge to make love to Sandi, seeing her living nude without a sense of being embarrassed helped. It also helped me accept my own nudity in front of her when she continually told me my body was beautiful.

Sometimes while I worked on the scenes she sketched, she would be working with charcoal on sketches of me rather than working on the scenes for her wall. She would draw me as I sat quiet reading while leaning against a wall or while I was playing my guitar for her. Her drawings showed everything physical about me. Nothing was left to the imagination.

Despite her drawings of me, I began to notice she was avoiding the painting on her wall. I also saw she had begun retreating into herself, retreating into silence. I sensed she was starting to drift into a depression but I didn’t know what to do about it, what to do to help her. I had been too familiar with my own descents into darkness and recognised the signs. She panicked if I went out of the room without taking her with me.

My mural was just about done when the man dropped in to see our progress. He didn’t make any comments about our nudity, perhaps he thought it was normal for artists to paint while nude. The man was excited about what he saw on my wall and all of the designs outlined by Sandra on her wall.

The painting which I had done was not well done. I just didn’t have the talent. Yet, it didn’t matter to him. He loved the colours and the rawness of the images. He noticed the wall in oils which Sandra was working on was coming along very slowly, yet he stood in awe of what she had done and the images which were sketched yet to be painted.

The very dark colours and scenes brought out images of a private hell, were powerful because of their darkness. He had comments of seeing Dante’s inferno in living colour. My crude efforts were just that, my wall was basically following a paint-by-number guide than it was about real painting. Sandra’s wall was pure emotion, pure art.

Previously

Thanks to Author, D. Denise Dianaty, Sarah ✨, Chris Floyd, Robert, Carrie, Mariana Busarova, Love, Block Wife, and all my other incredible readers.