Tuesday, 4 October 2011
Beavering Away
She watched him from beneath her fringe with a steady gaze. He was cleaning his brushes on a white rag, and the bitter tang of turpentine caught in her throat as the reds of lip and hair, the green of eyes and the pale rose of skirt blurred together into a thick smear of dull brown on the cloth.
He never looked her in the eye, although he would stare intently at a wrist, or a nipple, or a wrinkle in the rough woollen stockings; then down to his work, the brushes delicately caressing the taut canvas.
He touched her from time to time in an impersonal, detached manner - to adjust a piece of fabric, or lift a section of her hair to fall across her cheek in a particular way. Once, he pushed his thumb between her lips to part them and show her teeth. He tasted of paint and salt.
He had rarely spoken to her, and only then with instructions on the pose. He had not asked her name, after all these weeks.
"I'm Anna," she said, quietly.
He frowned, came over and tilted her head downwards slightly, taking her chin between his finger and thumb.
"It doesn't matter, your name". He stared intently at the pot of brushes, stroked a flat-ended sable across the back of his hand. She knew his, of course. Everyone knew. She wondered who bought the paintings, where they would hang. She could not imagine what sort of house, what kind of room, would have on its walls a large image of a half-naked girl in rumpled wool stockings. No other man or boy had ever seen her naked, no hand apart from his had touched her skin beyond a handshake.
She watched the painter mix his colours with a scowl of concentration, care for his brushes with the tenderness of a lover. He painted with sure, confident strokes although he did not allow her to look at the work. She pictured him running his hand across the jut of her collarbone and into the shadow of her neck, and felt her cheeks suddenly blush.
(20 minute writing workshop exercise)
Typical girl - all foreplay and action? Answer my quiz of the week.
Make it stop
Please don't stop
Wake me up when it's over
Oh you tease - where's the rest?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment