A tribute

by Meritxell Riera Prims

The Studio (1881), by Russian artist Marie Bashkirtseff

 

I remember your tanned skin, your white hair, your melancholic eyes and your appalling presence. I thought ‘He must have been handsome in his younger days’. That was actually stupid because you were still really handsome. I always thought you were unreal, like straight out from a novel or a movie. And the story behind you actually backed it up.

You spoke in your deep, slow voice with that accent from somewhere in the South and you strolled up and down the atelier with your overall calm demeanor, searching for some painting, some brush or some chemical product. You took me in when I knew that was your sanctuary and you rarely let anyone in it or in your thoughts. And most of the time we remained silent each one of us doing their thing. And words weren’t missed at all. 

That spot was our refuge from the nonsense going on in the rest of the place.

You gave me advice but you were never condescending. On the contrary, you treated me with affection, respected me, never got angry at me or lost your patience.

I still keep those pictures you painted and gave to me. Some of them are hanging on my room wall.

I knew you had your demons, some of them extremely hard to cope with for others and yourself of course. I remember hearing your screams from the other wing of the house when the migraine stroke and I have the image of you bending on the sink, your head under the tap, letting the water run and your face contorting in pain.

And however, I treasure my most precious memory: the day you went back home and I was invited for a while, and your wife showed us around that ancient palace full of relics from long lost times. And I remember when I got back into the van and it drove away, I turned back and I saw you standing at the threshold with a tender smile on your face and your left hand on your chest, tapping on the place where the heart is located. And I knew exactly what that meant. Something we never actually said to each other but which was completely understood.

That was the last time I ever saw you, and I still wonder whether you’re feeling well, how must you look like or whether you’re even still around. I just hope you’ve found your place in this fucked up world. 
You were one of the kindest human beings I’ve ever met -though briefly- and you won’t be forgotten.

Dedicat a en Lluís T.