BRUSHED BY TUSCANY: AN ARTIST’S DIARY COLUMN

“What if Nobody Shows Up”

The foundation of fleeting friendships in Florence

“This is just how I always am,” I reply.

She laughs. “Every day is a good day to dress up, eh?”

Something like that.

Saturday, 10 February, 2024, 12:30pm — Central Pistoia, Tuscany

It’s been an hour since I popped an antihistamine and a panadol. My sneezing fit is beginning to tide over, and I’m putting on my favorite coat.

I’m headed now to the art-meets I host at the Art With Love Foundation in Florence for international women. My art group has seventeen members, who are always excited about meeting up. Only four have said yes to showing up today.

Of those four, two have just texted to bail. The phone is buzzing still as I click my umbrella open.

“I woke up with nausea and a stomach ache.”

“I also don’t think I can join. There’s a class I’m going to at 3, instead.”

“So it seems no one is coming?”

I only check my phone when I’m finally sat on the train. Showing the chat to my partner, I shrug and text them all back.

“Hope you feel better!”

“You can join us after your class!”

“I am!”

What if no one shows up? The thought tugs at me softly, like a child scared of being alone. The rain falls steadily as the train choo’s to a start. What if I had to go at it alone?

Walking at an even pace towards the art foundation is Silvia, an older artist who hasn’t checked with her friends if they’re going to be painting today. She’s in a sensible sweater that is easy to wash in case she splatters. But she never splatters. She unbuttons her coat and enters the studio.

“Ciao, Mauro!” She’s exclaiming now.

Mauro, with his head tilted up so as to look clearer through his bifocals, turns towards the greeting. Mauro, like her, came alone. Since he doesn’t use social media, he wouldn’t know who would’ve made it to the studio this afternoon.

“Eccola!” There she is! He reaches out to her as they exchange quick air-kisses.

She looks around the near-empty studio, then pulls up a chair right next to him. Time to do what she actually came here for. Time to paint.

Saturday, 10 February, 2024, 2:45pm — The Art With Love Foundation

“Is it your birthday today?” Julia, one of the usual patrons of the foundation says to me in her perfect Italian. She’s talking about the red dress I’m wearing.

I slowly squeeze a dollop of cadmium red on my palette. I’ve picked up one of the unkempt, open canvases from the box and have already decided to go abstract on it. My palette is just as fresh in my mind as on my wax papers.

“This is just how I always am,” I reply with a smile, my accent giving away that I’m foreign.

She laughs. “Every day is a good day to dress up, eh?”

Something like that.

The truth is, I am my most wonderful self when I’m about to do art. And sometimes I like to dress up for it. I see makeup as a kind of paint, and myself as my own masterpiece. It detracts from my self-doubt to have sharp eyeliner and a bold hair color on.

Even though my dress is old and boring, and my hair naturally wavy, I stick out like a neon red sign.

An introvert who stands out, surely there’s something wrong with that picture…

The truth is, I am my most wonderful self when I’m about to do art.

What if no one shows up?

What if I had to go at it alone?

Over a hundred people have shown up

This is a first even for the foundation. Countless young people are walking around looking for easels and seats, bobbing their heads like pigeons.

“Non c’è una tavolezza!” There is no easel! one of them exclaims.

Some of us are hoarders, I see a group sitting with twice the number of easels between them. Some other easels already have prize-worthy masterpieces on them.

I look at my phone now. The third one has texted.

Oh, I’m sorry, I convinced myself that everyone skips today!

I turn to look at the Silvia and Mauro duo. More of their friends have unexpectedly joined. They’re critiquing each other’s work, chatting and laughing.

I might not be alone, but for a split-second, I sure felt lonely.

At her apartment in downtown Florence, Amelie is getting ready to make a reappearance at both the foundation and this column. She and her boyfriend serve up lunch. The rain intensifies as she sits down at the table with him.

Ever since the group introduction, she’s never missed a day at the art foundation. And the rain won’t stop her today, either.

Saturday, 10 February, 2024, 4:25pm — The Art With Love Foundation

Amelie walks in, no umbrella in sight. Always sunny, her black clothes are almost jarring against her warm smile. She asks me how I’ve been, and mentions how full the studio is today. After some niceties, she pulls up a chair and swipes an easel from another station to put down next to me.

“You look beautiful today,” We both say to each other.

She lightly ruffles her bangs, trying to flick some of the rain out. She tells me she likes my dress.

“I always come in black, in case I get paint on myself,” She admits as I lightly dab at the dioxazine purple I got on the elbow of my dress. I see her point. Hindsight is always 20–20.

I look around, seeing some painters in white, cream, and yellow. I feel a little less alone in this.

She’s picked blues, pinks and whites for her palette. Once again, she’s taking the abstract route, painting the sea, a reminder of her recent snorkeling trip.

I’ve decided to paint a red poppy field at sunset. I don’t exactly know what it’ll look like yet, but I already know what I want it to be. An impasto. Abstract.

We talk about the group chat. The lack of attendees.

Usually, I’d feel like a failure, but the paint strokes and the color mixing have put me in a zen state.

“Have you ever met this girl?” She asks about that third girl whose attender’s anxiety outweighed her want to try something new. The truth is, I hadn’t. She had canceled so many times, I just never counted her when I planned a meet.

Amelie is puzzled. She speaks just like you’d imagine a French woman would — with total and unabashed self confidence: “But this is the place to be alone!”

It was refreshing to know someone who liked her own company so much, she was unfazed at the thought of working alone in a sea of people.

I was once like this. When I left to come to Italy, I left precisely because I wanted to be alone. I was sick of my hometown, and I wanted to start a new life where nobody knows my name. Even though I’m younger, I still find that hopeful optimism I thought I’d outgrown in her.

I’d always thought I had to jump through hoops to have friends. To meet people. Because everybody I met expected this of me.

I can choose to make an art community and hope people show up. Or I can just make my own community as I go.

As luck would have it, I found a partner, and I haven’t been alone since. I have also never been lonely since. I’m thinking about my failed attempts at making friends at my Italian university. Being frequently ostracized at first because I arrived too late to fit in, and then later because I was temporarily disabled and couldn’t go out.

I suddenly snap out of my reverie when Silvia turns from her group to me, and says she loves the color of my hair. After thank-you’s and you’re-so-kinds, we exchange some words about art and beauty.

I can choose to make an art community and hope people show up. Or I can just make my own community as I go.

But now, washing up and chatting to Anastasiia, and telling Patrizia her work is stunning, I enjoy the salient knowledge that I can choose my social situation.

I can choose to be alone here, like Amelie often is. I can choose to make an art community and hope people show up. Or I can just make my own community as I go.

As the hour ends, Amelie and I huddle close under my lone umbrella, walking back towards the city center.

Saturday, 10 February, 2024, 8:45pm — Royal India Restaurant, Florence

After spending all my work and play days in my fifth language and third languages, I finally get to speak in my first language at the hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant, a few minutes away from the leather market in Florence.

It’s liberating to make jokes in a language I think in. Our server cautiously asks if my Irish partner can handle the spice, and laughs out loud when I tell him he’ll cry through it all so long as it tastes good.

Little do they know that it’s my partner’s idea to dine at an Indian restaurant. His eyes light up when he recognizes things on the menu. Just the way mine do watching him enjoy such an integral part of my life so much.

As we’re talking about our days, he tells me about his photography stint across town, and I show him my painting of the day.

We’re both awed by each other. As we share a dessert platter of steaming hot gulab jamun and silken rabdi, he asks who showed up.

The truth is for about two of the three hour painting session at the art foundation I was alone. Only occasionally exchanging words — often compliments — with other artists around. Making faux friends in a really beautiful place.

But, by far, this was my favorite art meet, yet!

I’ll catch you next Wednesday for a new installment from Tuscany!

Check out last week’s topic here:

Did I manage to bring you joy? Would you bring me a caffè ristretto? https://ko-fi.com/sangewya

If you’re interested in the day-to-day workings of an artist in Tuscany, check out my Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/iamsangeetakalsi/

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