before settling on my black maxi dress and chunky knit cardigan. Casual? Sexy? Cute? I hoped to look all three, and with my hair cascading past my shoulders I thought I looked good. I’ve worn a bit more makeup than usual but I don’t want to take any chances – I’m getting drawn for god’s sake.
I look at my watch again, then I become aware of someone looking at me. There wasn't anyone behind me a moment before. He gives me a friendly wave as I turn towards him.
“There you are,” I say, trying to suppress my relief.
He mutters something inaudible in Italian, but that glimmer in his eyes is on full display. I can see his sketchpad in one hand, but the large insulated bag in his other hand catches my eye.
I point to the bag. “What’s that?”
He keeps his gaze on me. “We eat after, yes?”
That’s very nice of him. I didn’t expect to a meal with him alone. Not to mention, I already had dinner with Gabe before.
“So where should I sit? Over by the—”
He takes a longing glance and looks disapprovingly. “This you wear?”
What does that mean? “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
I didn’t know there was a dress code for this session, I certainly did not get the memo.
“Beautiful signorina should wear more…How do you say? Colourful clothing,” he said looking at me with an appraising eye.
He called me beautiful!
“ Qui …” He puts the basket down on the floor and opens the bag up, pulling out a canary yellow scarf. It’s long and beautiful, like a golden silk wrap.
He holds up the scarf in front of me. “This is like il sole , the sun. Put this on.”
My mouth goes agape as he pushes my cardigan off my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground in one heap. Without further ado, he puts the silk wrap over me to replace the cardigan. I get the privilege of smelling him again, that scent of soap and sand. I feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin delicate cloth as he fastens it around my neck, tying it like a loose braid. His fingers are just mere inches away from my chest.
“Sit there.” He stands back, gesturing to the narrow ledge overlooking the natural landscape.
I do as he says and sit down, excited to see Matteo work his magic.
“Turn a sinistral ,” At my blank stare he says, “To the left.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, guiding me until I look away from the temple and him. He knows exactly what he is doing, and he is here to execute his vision.
He stands to observe me and my position for a moment before coming over to me, when he grabs my hands.
“Put them like this,” he binds them together and puts them over my lap. His hands are calloused, rough but tender at the same time. He gives me a gentle smile and walks back to his sketchpad and pencil. After glancing at me for a few seconds, he proceeds to sketch.
Matteo is in full concentration mode now, and when he’s not looking I sneak a glance over at him. His brows are furrowed, focusing intently on the paper and his left hand is holding the end of the pencil so elegantly. He’s so serious, yet he looks so at home when he is drawing. Something tells me that photography is his day job and his way to make ends meet but this is his true passion, and something he is serious at working towards.
Complete silence ensues. His hand moves over the canvas and it's almost like his mind is directing his hand. I can hear the pencil move around the paper, to the left, to the right. To the top, to the bottom. This feels odd but nice; to just sit here and enjoy the cool summer night air, and bask in nature and let my mind mellow. Away from my phone, my laptop, all the technological realities of my life.
I sit without fidgeting, letting him create his vision of me and I hope I’m what he is looking for artistically.
More sketches, more glances my way, more pausing. I don’t know how long this has been going on but I’m not keeping track of the time. It’s nice to not have to do that for
I look at my watch again, then I become aware of someone looking at me. There wasn't anyone behind me a moment before. He gives me a friendly wave as I turn towards him.
“There you are,” I say, trying to suppress my relief.
He mutters something inaudible in Italian, but that glimmer in his eyes is on full display. I can see his sketchpad in one hand, but the large insulated bag in his other hand catches my eye.
I point to the bag. “What’s that?”
He keeps his gaze on me. “We eat after, yes?”
That’s very nice of him. I didn’t expect to a meal with him alone. Not to mention, I already had dinner with Gabe before.
“So where should I sit? Over by the—”
He takes a longing glance and looks disapprovingly. “This you wear?”
What does that mean? “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
I didn’t know there was a dress code for this session, I certainly did not get the memo.
“Beautiful signorina should wear more…How do you say? Colourful clothing,” he said looking at me with an appraising eye.
He called me beautiful!
“ Qui …” He puts the basket down on the floor and opens the bag up, pulling out a canary yellow scarf. It’s long and beautiful, like a golden silk wrap.
He holds up the scarf in front of me. “This is like il sole , the sun. Put this on.”
My mouth goes agape as he pushes my cardigan off my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground in one heap. Without further ado, he puts the silk wrap over me to replace the cardigan. I get the privilege of smelling him again, that scent of soap and sand. I feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin delicate cloth as he fastens it around my neck, tying it like a loose braid. His fingers are just mere inches away from my chest.
“Sit there.” He stands back, gesturing to the narrow ledge overlooking the natural landscape.
I do as he says and sit down, excited to see Matteo work his magic.
“Turn a sinistral ,” At my blank stare he says, “To the left.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, guiding me until I look away from the temple and him. He knows exactly what he is doing, and he is here to execute his vision.
He stands to observe me and my position for a moment before coming over to me, when he grabs my hands.
“Put them like this,” he binds them together and puts them over my lap. His hands are calloused, rough but tender at the same time. He gives me a gentle smile and walks back to his sketchpad and pencil. After glancing at me for a few seconds, he proceeds to sketch.
Matteo is in full concentration mode now, and when he’s not looking I sneak a glance over at him. His brows are furrowed, focusing intently on the paper and his left hand is holding the end of the pencil so elegantly. He’s so serious, yet he looks so at home when he is drawing. Something tells me that photography is his day job and his way to make ends meet but this is his true passion, and something he is serious at working towards.
Complete silence ensues. His hand moves over the canvas and it's almost like his mind is directing his hand. I can hear the pencil move around the paper, to the left, to the right. To the top, to the bottom. This feels odd but nice; to just sit here and enjoy the cool summer night air, and bask in nature and let my mind mellow. Away from my phone, my laptop, all the technological realities of my life.
I sit without fidgeting, letting him create his vision of me and I hope I’m what he is looking for artistically.
More sketches, more glances my way, more pausing. I don’t know how long this has been going on but I’m not keeping track of the time. It’s nice to not have to do that for
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