A Discerning Eye (continued)

Astrid arrives in a pale pink sundress. Her face, washed of cosmetics, is childlike. I offer her tea, which she accepts, and together we climb up to the studio.

She walks around slowly, taking in the space. I've stored any evidence of the Humanity series; the noses and eyes and mouths are rolled up on closet shelves. Astrid pauses before one of the windows. It's foggy but bright, the kind of day where a sunburn is possible though the mist. The light shines through the thin fabric of her dress, outlining her narrow buttocks and slender legs, the kind of legs that run thigh to calf in one amazing line. Her figure is a confluence of genetic luck, kept deliberately underweight. She need not; hers in the sort of body that will maintain itself for a lifetime. Of course I say nothing of this. But I hope to paint it.

"What would you like me to do?"

"Perhaps move that chair closer to the window? I'd like to begin with some sketches."

continued

Fiction, New Fiction, Writing