Her Armchair, in the Corner
Walking up the stairs behind his client, Will tried not to react to their nervousness. His hand toyed with his phone in his pocket and he stopped himself from taking it out and turning it in his fingers.
Charlie stepped aside and Will climbed the last few steps into the loft space. It was light and airy. A table with craft items in the corner, all neatly packed away, a jug and two glasses there. In the opposite corner, an armchair, below a skylight and beside some French windows with a view across fields to the Downs.
The chair was brightly lit, the perfect place for reading and a piece of fabric was laid across it. On the wall behind was a dark square where a picture had been taken down. In front of the chair was an easel, a small table beside it, a sheet already taped and ready, a box of more paper on the floor by the easel's legs.
Will gripped his left hand in his right, knowing that if he didn't, then he'd start pulling at his upper lip, which he did when he felt tense. He couldn't see why Charlie was nervous when he wasn't the one being drawn. Will wished that he'd asked more questions.
"Here you go," said Charlie.
Will walked to the easel, took his kit from the case and placed everything on the table, glad of something to do. "When are they joining us?" he asked, immediately embarrassed for not using his subject's name.
"She's here already," Charlie said.
Shivers ran up Will's spine. It might be a cliche, but that was how he felt, a cold shock running up and down his back, the tops of his arms tingly. Will picked up a pencil, placed a few pale lines on the paper, warming up.
"She's here," said Will. He meant it as a question but it came out as a statement and that was fine in itself.
"I'll leave you to it, then" announced Charlie and headed straight back down the stairs, moving away faster than he needed to.
Will started sketching, beginning with an arm of the sofa, tracing out a corner of the fabric. Leaving a little space, knowing where these lines stopped. His hands knew better than his eyes, taking over a little, tracing a line of thigh, the leg crossed underneath it.
Drawing is more about seeing than co-ordination - he'd told thousands of students that. It was about the eyes more than the hands - but when it went well, Will's hands seemed to move by themselves, independent of his mind. No need to think. He watched the individual lines building up an empty space on that chair, sketching elements of the surrounding corner. Then he went back to drawing the figure that wasn't there. Will produced a ghost of a sketch, a shade, slowly drawing form and presence. The hair hanging across the shoulders, the line of the jaw, which was softened by the eyes and a trace of a smile.
"Do you want to pause for a minute?" Will said to the empty room.
He'd not kept track of the time, and felt guilty for that. Models had complained to him about artists who didn't think of their comfort, who kept drawing until the model themselves called for a break, time to stretch and shift their muscles. He felt ridiculous for saying it to an empty room, putting it down to habit.
Clear on the paper was a woman's form. In the bright light, he could see the empty chair, dust motes in the sunlight. But he'd known what to draw, he'd known the shape to render.
Two water glasses on the craft table, so he filled each of them, knowing that was ridiculous. He gulped down the water then placed the glass back down, his empty glass beside the other empty glass. He wanted to run, but he didn't want to turn his back on that room. He had an idea that if he was not looking at the chair then she would appear.
He picked out a new sheet of paper, announced to the room that it would be a forty-five-minute pose, to pick a comfortable posture. This time the sketch was easier, the details coming quicker. The line of a scar on her side. The session cast a spell on Will so he did not hear that Charlie come up behind him.
"Yes, that's it. You've captured her perfectly."
Will turned back to the chair, wanting to check the shading on the left hand, but there was nothing to see. He was, for better or worse finished. His mouth was dry, and he needed more water. He needed the toilet, and he told Charlie.
"Wait," Charlie told him, and opened a cupboard.
Charlie took out a picture frame. It was the right size for that gap on the wall, and Will knew what the image would be, feeling sick at the thought of it, knowing as Charlie turned the picture round to show him, that it would prove that Will had caught a very good likeness.
Background
I’ve been writing a lot of pieces about artists and models recently, thinking about an idea for a new story zine. While this is quite a long piece, I want to try playing more with fragments. I’ve got some time off coming soon, and hopefully that will give me some space to play with that.
Things have been very busy recently. At the start of June I gave my talk on How to Escape from a WW2 POW Camp and yesterday I spoke at work on Will a Computer Ever Write a Novel. It’s felt quite stressful, preparing for both of these things.
Meanwhile, I’m working on the final story for the True Clowns Stories Kickstarter, Happy the Dunk, which is taking some time, but is going to be worth it.
Recommendations
The best film I've seen recently was a documentary, And the King said, What a Fantastic Machine. It's a little hard to describe - imagine Adam Curtis making an arts documentary, perhaps. The film starts with a history of cinema, and builds up a collage of how film has changed over the years.
There is some incredible footage along the way. Leni Riefenstahl talking about Triumph of the Will. Footage of people balancing at the edge of tall buildings. Different angles on famous photographs, showing a crowd of photographers. A fascinating section on the streamer Belle Devine - famous for selling her bathwater. Outtakes from an ISIS propaganda video, where the speaker fluffs his lines.
Some reviews have found the mix of footage irritating, even glib. I don't think this film would have worked before the age of the social stream, where news of disasters is placed alongside personal stories and jokes (and the film does include some horrific footage at points). But I found this absorbing and powerful.