Naked Meadow

Naked Meadows

I made a stroke of brush and on the white canvas appeared only a thin, blue line enough to realize that the girl in the front of me, comfortably leaned on the white stone wasn't sufficient inspiration. I did not know why. From her first appearance, I knew that she was created to be the muse of my paintings. Why then was I not able to achieve what I wished so badly? Perhaps that environment, or maybe Edward standing on the side, who pretended that he painted... Even if I did not look at him, I heard his loudly breathe and it annoyed me. I looked once again on Cecilia. She looked like a heroine from the Celtic legends, with her blue, wide tunic, which lightly pressed to her sweaty body and loose skirt rolled up high to the thigh... ugh I assumed how Edward slavered.
Celtic heroine, I said to myself in thoughts, I know…, already I know…, I have… - I snapped right off, so vehemently, that I overthrew the easel, but this did not stop me. With passion I pulled Cecilia’s hand, not considering the possible protests of Edward. Cecilia seemed to understand my impulsive intentions. She ran over the patch until she reached the edge of the forest and when she saw an oak she sat down in its shadow, putting her head on the green, moss carpet. Then she rose up, and subtly touched the trunk and hugged her face to its rough bark. I looked at this scene with joy; I saw how the girl gives to the tree her consolation, joy, tenderness. You are my Celtic druid; you are the mistress of the tree, slave of that tree...
I asked her to step up and comfortably leant on the tree, but she, perversely, stood up with her back to me and with both hands she clutched the thick branch protruding at the head. Tightening her whole body, she tilted it back, also leaning against its head.
Oh yes, yes,- the voice of Edward spoke behind me - that is so very good, I would title this picture "the slave of senses" – he said, approaching Cecilia. He made a move with his hand as if he outlined the shape of the Cecilia’s body, stepped up to her and with abrupt plucking movements took off the leather belt hanging loosely on her skirt. Afterwards he, using that very same belt, tied her wrists to the branch of the tree. Cecilia was pleased by that idea; she leaned her head back further and smiled at me. Edward saw my uncertainty and laughed, but soon after that he stroked Cecilia's head and took from her hair the silver, Celtic clasp. Her beautiful chestnut hair scattered in the wind. I took the challenge and I started to draw in my sketch – book. At first I wanted to catch the entire line of her body but I still had a feeling of lacking something, so I concentrated on the details: on the palms tied to the tree, on the very tense outlines of shoulders and arms, on the loosely hanging hair, and of course on the beauty of her face. Cecilia closed her eyes and she curved down the corners of her lips in a kind of half-smile. I stepped up very near her in order to model exactly the arrangement of her mouth and I noticed that from the corners of her lips emerged little lines – One day it will change into the wrinkles – I thought – but before it happens, I will make your beauty immortal.
I did not pay complete attention to what Edward was doing but then I heard his voice again. „ Does it not seem to you that something is missing here?” I looked at him with irritation. Why does he always guess my perplexity? I took a few steps back from Cecilia and looked at her and the setting again, from a distance. I thought, whatever do not place her, only as a fragment of the image, instead of making her a main heroine of that, like in a charmed, idyllic scene of Claude Lorraine, with a woman – prisoner, or slave in the background. I could not be ashamed of the ideal shapes of model that splendidly combined with paradisiacal surroundings in this composition. However something was still lacking… I looked once again. My eyes passed Cecylia’s figure from the top to the bottom again. With very firm steps I walked up to her and not reflecting completely I jerked the piece of her blouse, tearing buttons and uncovering her breasts. She shouted gently but she smiled at me - “I am an abducted, forest nymph and you are my god. I am giving myself to you in devotion!” I heard a humming and a clapping, somewhere behind me. “Bravo, well done, I can see that your vein came back to you” Edward was very excited, which irritated me even more. “The rain would be useful” – he said, looking with appetite at Cecilia. “You do not understand completely the spirit of the artist – she said to him.
I returned to sketching. I had already lots of details, but I polished it even more. I wanted to grab the moments, to catch this magic time, this paralyzing beauty of my model, which after all too soon would be too tired to last with tied hands. Or perhaps I would hold her forever; my man's ego tempted me, just to be her man, her possessor, to make her a real slave... I was not ashamed of my own desires?
This moment really was magic. I thought that the tree certainly was also surprised with this entire situation. Perhaps this oak was sure that nothing can surprise him, after all it was the smartest of all trees, it stood on the edge of the forest and it saw everything. Every day wind brought it the news, and sun uncovered for it most secretive secrets. I looked in his branches and with even greater intensity I began to sketch, it seemed to me that the colour of leaves changed from sapphire - green into more reddish, perhaps the sun changed position, or perhaps the oak simply blushed because a beautiful girl cuddleg him.
Do you know – Cecilia said - I have an impression, that this oak speaks to me and even sings me its melody with the quiet rustle of its own leaves. See, the oak looks, as if with concentration, to watch our work. Its branches look through your shoulders, as if it wanted to compare whether what you two create is faithful to the reality. This oak knows, what the true beauty really is, every day it observes the amazing beauty of the red-hot sun, the most beautiful high flight of a goshawk, the azure blue of the sky, and sometimes it amuses itself with leaves, those rays of light passing through it, twinkling and delighted with a game of colours.
I didn’t know that you are such a dreamer- said Edward - pretty well, you would be a real artist - poet if you wouldn’t be a prostitute. Prostitute? - I asked the question so vehemently, that a pencil fell down from my fingers. Of course she is a prostitute- Edward confirmed with glee - and what did you think? That beautiful Cecilia is that saint Cecilia? I did not suspect that you could be so naive. Every time when you asked me to contact her, I took the same newspaper hidden in the drawer and under the advertisement "willing students will make all for you" I read a telephone number and I rang. Do you remember, Cecilia, when for the first time I phoned you, you were very surprised, that I had such a work for you, and you were surprised even more when I said, that you do not have to pose naked. But the job I gave you, appealed to you, of course? I did not look at them, I just looked somewhere there and seemed to me, that sky is clouded over. Surely it’s going to rain. I had an impression, as a little boy that I had dirtied hands and I must quickly go to wash them. We have to return, before it starts to rain steadily.