Jean the Artiste

Jean the Artiste (La Plan Diabolique!)

By Roger with a nod to Nin and Mel ‘20

Chapter the First…A P L A Studio in Calais

In the northeast section of the city of Calais and very near the channel waters was a small colony where there lived many painters, writers and sculptors, including a particular artiste, our young, innocent Jean. The colony near Calais was known by the residents as La Petite Artiste or simply as LPA. It was a gay part of CalaIs whereat music and laughter were often heard as there were many small sidewalk cafes where artists and patrons would meet, dine, drink and tell stories. It was a happy place infused by the freedom that so often is found among artists yet too, a place with the torment that also proliferates, percolates and permeates those who practice in the sensitive fields of painting, sculpting, writing. In short, the frustrations common among artistes: the composer pulling out hairs in search of the precise notes; the writer getting blocked in search of his poignant phrases; the frustration of the poet’s poverty and such but these tears of artistes were unheard except in privacy… whispered among lovers in embrace as a part of their expressions, conjugations and related inspiring passions.

Our precocious Jean was newly located in LPA, an artiste without portfolio as it were, yet to establish himself but with, in his own mind, a great untapped talent in both the arts of paints and clays. In short, he was a Michaelangelo without proof. It warmed him to have such a vision of himself but the evidence to bolster was lacking. Sadly, as an artist, he was a talent in pretense only…awaiting that dream of a productive display to an admiring patron…a wealthy one preferred, of course. In his mind it was a simple question of supply and demand. Unfortunately, into his little studio by the undulating sea there was scant supply, and a dearth of demand except the merchant’s demands of bills to pay.

On top of all that, Jean’s cheap studio was at the water’s edge and habitually damp…he coveted dryness for his canvas, for his clays to set and his physical soreness that troubled his artist’s mind when he worked. He once lamented, to himself, that such issues never betroubled Michaelangelo. No!! and yet consoling himself with scarves, jackets and socks he kept warm enough only lacking in one important ingredient…a patron. As it happened one cold morning in the spring of that year…

His heart leapt on that early morning for there entered his studio a young woman of obvious means as indicated by her elegant ensemble. “Excuse me monsieur, “ she said. “Are you the artiste called Jean?” Jean stood, smiled, bowing. She looked at him and around his small studio and said: “How can you work in such dampness?” She was an attractive woman and had very much of what the French call “assiste” [demeanor or attitude or as the English might observe: pain in the assiste] but, thought our damp berobed Jean, she is a patron and entitled to her assiste! I will humor her even if she is an ass…..iste the last part slowly .

Thus endeth Chapter the First

Chapter the Second: A patron’s wishes

Jean ever polite and deferential even in his youth replied, agreeing, “Yes damp and my neck is often sore but I dress accordingly…what may I do for Madam?” She replied with a subdued: “It is Mademoiselle and I was interested in a sculpting.” Jean, properly and gently admonished, removed his warming scarf and offered “Mademoiselle” the couch and sat opposite her saying: “Of what?” She looked at him from his toes to his top, smiling with approval at what she saw…he was supple, nicely shaped, dark hair, sensual lips, flashing eyes reflective of the sea and otherwise concealed from neck down, and said “Well of me of course!” Jean was blushing at his stupidity and blurted put “Would you like some tea or a glass of wine?” She laughed at his reaction and the blushing. He was, she thought, an innocent but so handsome especially when he was blushing. She replied in a whispered feminine tone: “It’s early but damp. Maybe some wine will be warming for both of us.”

And thus young Jean, Michaelangelo in the borning, and his Venus borning but beclothed…up to his point in time…became acquainted…and warmed in his intimate studio with, if you please, Mademoiselle. Finally, two glasses in, Jean braved up and said: “With or without?” Mademoiselle smiled her beautiful smile responding: “Guess!” At which there was a mutual full-throated spontaneous ear-splitting communal laughter that filled the little studio, passed out the studio window into the streets of LP A, enriching passers-by who looked to the source of the hilarity evoking many smiles and feelings of good will.

Jean opened his last bottle of wine. He was having such fun and thinking of some marketing at last; he also had visions of his patron au naturelle…maybe just a scarf to warm her neck. When to begin? Soon, they agreed, much to the pleasure of Jean and the grocer and butcher who were impatient, owed and overdue..

A parting after a modest advance for supplies, scheduling for the initial sketching early the following morning which dawned cold, grey and foggy…a day for scarves but which Jean, on awaking already had a stiffness as he got dressed. A stiffness everywhere in his body except where it was a sign of arousal of one’s sexual parts. His rather sizable part, admirable to some and compelling to others and to this point unused for any but disposal purposes…his wine and other fluid recycling spigot which he now carefully tucked in his pants and began sorting his supplies for the arrival of his patron, rubbing his neck all the while…it was dark and dank…damp, aching.