It was a Sunday; a week after you’d picked me up. When you’d asked me your typical greeting of ‘ç a va?’, and I’d answered mine, ‘ç a va main tenant’. Simple enough, but you knew I meant I was alright now that you were there. Then you kissed me, with far more intention that you should have with my Mum at the door. We drove the two hours with your hand on my knee, that look in your eye. You carried my suitcase into the lift, only putting it down to quickly crush me against one of the walls for the three floors we went up. We got out, go in, you go out. I unpack, I tidy up, and open the shutters (you lived in a gorgeous apartment next to the jardin de plantes, why did you never open the shutters?). You work, or do something you imagined equally important at the office (that annoyed me, did you ever know?).

Anyway, like I said, I’d been there a week. You were at the office, I cannot reason why, I only know I put up with it. You were late and I was bored, so I decided to get dressed up (no, not in that way this time, just a way that wasn’t pyjamas or joggers). So on went my new thing that would hold up the stockings, some fancy knickers, and a new pink and black dress I knew you would love. I’d got it at Christmas that year, I knew you’d like it, it was similar to one you once said I looked nice in, then let your actions prove your words. (Did you know that in three years you gave me four compliments? Did you know, my excuse for you was at least I knew you meant them?). I did my hair, I did my make-up, and put on perfume (which is why I need to change it, because I am fed-up of feeling melancholy every time I wear it). But then you were late, and an otherwise rational woman started to get irrational. It is part of the infliction of being an artist, an over-active imagination that’s constantly turning.

So you get later, and then you get back. I didn’t shout (I never did, did I? Would you even believe I could?). But you could tell. It’s all too easy to tell how I’m feeling. I cannot help it, and I don’t think I could change it. But for this time you could still control it, you still had an invested interest in changing it, you still wanted us. So you pushed up my chin, stared into my eyes and said, without a trace of a smile, “Don’t forget God’s gift to Adam was a woman, so revel in your femininity.” Coming from you, you who would constantly assure me you had no fear of death, why would you? You, who I could argue about evolution with eight times a day!

Well it sort of worked, it made me smile, and I could see it working behind your eyes, wondering what your grateful little gift would give you that evening. So before you had time to say anything else I spouted out, as quickly as I could, without thinking “oh yes, rejoice in the fact that I can be difficult to please, because when I am pleased what I give back is definitely something worth having, being part of, and being grateful for. Trust me, it is obviously worth the effort of getting it right! That and always, always wear matching underwear because I can, and when I dance move my indecent suggestive hips!”

You just laughed and slapped my hips (popping one suspender), you raised your eyebrows, and I knew you could see a winning edge. So you followed with “yes, because there’s no shame in wanting to be feminine, and not liking Germaine Greer doesn’t mean every man you meet is going to step on you!”

Then of course, you won, when you followed up by shouting “and about nakedness, well, enjoy your body, feel good about it, and enjoy being in it. Because why not?” Then more quietly, “if you can give me a good reason, I will try not to!” So you see, coming from a man who generally slept in a jogging suit, you pretty much floored me. So what could I do but concede defeat, and submit to your rationality.

So why did you have to leave me, when the world is already much too full of the broken hearted? Why did you have to leave me without even giving me the comfort of offering you comfort? Why did you have to leave me broken (for a while) (and at the mercy of my irrationality)?  “No matter how tightly my soul is pinned to my body”, for a while there it left me unthinking and unfeeling. But most of all, why when it’s now 365 days later, why did you have to leave me afraid of falling in love? Moreover, afraid of never being good enough?

And of course, yes, this post is about you, the ex-blue shirted boyfriend. To you there is a question, and a statement. First, if I was sent to tempt you, well how do you think you did? I think you know how I’d answer for you, and the angry me would probably laugh, even though I probably shouldn’t. Then the statement, do you know what? You are not in the art, not even for a second; and that is a bigger part of me than even myself. So how’s that for defiant for you? (Though it is only fair to say a pathetically tearful defiance).

And if there’s one more thing I could just add, its here’s to not counting the next 365 days! Here’s to finding the strength (I have never had before) to be a woman in my own right. You see, yes, I am sure of my femininity and the power that awards me; but (and you notice the irony, and double standard here), but I am not sure of it on its own. I do not need a man to make me a woman, but I would quite like one to make me feel like a woman. With a promise to myself, that will undoubtedly please my little sister, I need to make my blog future proof. By which I mean one that anybody could read, if they were just knowing me, if they wanted to know me now, and after.

Therefore, I was genuinely very pleased when the author of the story, and blog, got in touch with me via e-mail, asking if I would like to draw a picture for one of his stories for him. That is what I’ve been doing this last week. I can’t tell you, or explain even, how much I enjoyed it. I am so used to thinking about (and going on about) how much I want to be an illustrator, that I’ve never even stopped to think about if I could actually do it or not! I mean I’m used to illustrating my life, my feelings, my experiences. But that’s just second nature, because they wouldn’t be my life, and I wouldn’t cope with my feelings if I couldn’t deal with them somehow (if it isn’t obvious my now, my dealing with them is me drawing).

I’m taking the fact that I really did enjoy it so much, the fact that it was nice to be taken away from myself for a little while, that it was nice to illustrate someone’s thoughts and ideas (though of course this could just be because of the quality of the story), and that he does like my drawing as a sign of success. So I guess that’s another small step towards my dream. As for the most important bit….

Here is the illustration, and you can read the story on Den’s blog, A Flash of Inspiration, and while you’re there you should also read Strangers on a Train (and all the others), which after all started this collaboration. Which I now hope will go the other way, as he kindly says he will write a story from a drawing I send him.

I have always had a bit of a thing for older men, I’m not sure why this is or where it came from (having said that ex-blue shirted boyfriend was a year and a half younger than me, and I was not the mature one in our relationship, no seriously). Now what I have never understood, because I do like flirting as much as the next person (it’s fun, cheeky, teasing, and can be a good boost to your ego), what I don’t understand is why do some attached men still think it is ok to take things beyond the boundaries of propriety? Now I do realise there is such a thing as un-harmful flirting, but this is a story about the unintentionally harmful kind, at least on my part.

Secondly, in France (as you will probably know), kissing is the normal form of greeting for people that you know. Where I live, it is three, it’s nothing new, but it is incredibly important to them. Because if you didn’t do it you would unintentionally offend the person you were saying hello to.

So now we go back to a time when I had just moved to France, and my little sister and I used to go to a nightclub near us called Le Pyramide (think going back in time to the 80’s, with neon paintings of music stars on the walls). It was in the middle of nowhere, you had to (obviously) drive to get there, the drinks were a bit disgusting (and the ice was definitely dodgy), and the music iffy at the best of times. Nevertheless, we liked it (and as it happens it is where I met ex-blue shirted boyfriend, but that is a different story), and we eventually got to know the owner who let us in for free, the doorman was cute, and the barman…. Well he is the reason I took up knitting.

I’d sit there and talk to him across the bar, and totally take advantage of the free dodgy (non-alcoholic, I was driving) drinks. (I do not mean to sound so stereotypically female, but you have to remember that people were interested in us; we were English, young, and liked clothes and high shoes. Which were back then rarities in that particular part of rural France).

I was young(er) and cheeky, and he was cheeky back. Because he had a wonderful imagination that could make me blush, one that significantly increased my French vocabulary (of which fesser was one word), he talked about his pet snakes (of which he honestly had several), and stuff I will leave to your imagination (I do not want to make my little sister cringe when she reads this). All of which, I guess (I know), I encouraged him in.

So, then one day I went to the supermarket with my Mum. Thankfully, this supermarket had shops along its front. Because walking along, I looked up and there he was, my barman. Except he had his wife in one hand, and their two children on the other hand and a hip.

I panicked; I didn’t know what to do. I mean would he kiss me hello? Introduce me? How? As the young woman who he made lewd suggestions to most Saturday nights, most of which she lapped up? I looked to my left, “oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, look at all those lovely coloured balls of Phildar wool for 99 cents!”

(I should also add it was probably a good thing, he was far too normal (for want of a better word) for me, and not at all geeky. I should also like to say; I felt much easier when no one was following my blog, and I felt less scared about the reaction to what I write and me. Stupid right, I know. Still, at least, I hope this is ok.)

1. I suppose I shall start with a personal bugbear of mine, because that is also a telling thing about my second thing. I wish more people knew the difference between erotic, and pornographic. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with pornographic, but there is a big difference, and somehow when people do not know the difference they take something away from the erotic. They take away the mystique and the wait and see. It needs to be put back, because there are some of us, I hope a lot of us that think it is still there. There is a wonderful quote by Fran Lebowitz,

“If your sexual fantasies were truly of interest to others, they would be no longer fantasies”, having said that I still draw the erotic occasionally and hope it’s of interest to others.

2. I am very opinionated, yes I do realise this, and yes I do realise it can be annoying sometimes. Nevertheless, as the same time I do realise there is strength in knowing and being able to admit when you are wrong, and change your opinion. This does not make me a pushover, when I am in a determined mood anyway.

3. I can be embarrassingly honest sometimes, this may seem like I trust too easily (it’s not as will be explained in my next point). But I am honest. It can make it hard to fit in (though this might have something more to do with the black culottes my Mum once bought me to wear to school), but I have finally reached the age, or at least the point in my life, where I don’t care anymore. I have the courage to be myself; I’d just like more courage to live my life. Because I can be too afraid of that sometimes, though reasonably I couldn’t tell you what I am afraid of.

4. and 5. I love love, I love the feeling of falling in love, I love having a crush (unrequited or not), I fall hard, and I’m afraid unless you can contain me I do have a tendency to obsess. The unfortunate thing is that I will then ask why, and wonder if he loves me why he does, and if he doesn’t worry about why he would! I need to learn not to look for the why and the if, because even I wouldn’t be able to explain to you why I loved, I just do, and it’s life, and the art inspiration that it gives me. I am never over analytical! (Oh yes, I guess you could add to that I can be ever so slightly sarcastic, caustic if you prefer). You see, you could say it was a strange infatuation for an otherwise sensible woman. But sometimes it’s nice, and sometimes it can take you back to that time when you kissed boys on the sofa in your parents lounge.

6. I love my family and my closest friends that make up the numbers of my family. If you’re part of that, I’m loyal to the point of obstinacy.

7. As an essential part of my advice to any future muse that must, because it could come in very useful to you. I get terrible pmt, I know not a great subject, but hey, this is about me. Not angry, or aggressive (little sister do not laugh), but depressed, sad and maudlin. There is only one way to deal with this, something that my ex-blue shirted boyfriend knew well, where and when you enquire, I will tell you!

Now for the blogs I’d like to recommend.

1. She waited on the couch to die. I almost didn’t look at this blog when I was browsing through the art tags, the title made me feel superstitious, but it is so worth it. I have total art envy, and that is all I will say.

2. Insoutenable Legerte. Very useful for improving your French vocabulary, but don’t translate the stories unless you don’t mind your stories a little bit rude.

3. Mini State of Mind. Just because I like it.

4. Misfits Miscellany. Because he wrote a poem about my art, whether he agrees with the Versatile Blogger Award or not! (Oh, and because he once said that artists should come in colours, sort of).

5. Crawling King Snake. Because he wrote about his ideal relationship, and that I was so surprised that a man could write it. That maybe, perhaps I should rethink my ideas about my stereotypes of men.

6. Deidra Alexandra’s Blog. Because I love how she writes.

7. A Flash of Inspiration. Because I love his stories, especially Strangers on a Train, and am currently illustrating a short story for him.

8. Naked Carly Art. I find it interesting, and I love her art.

9. Aaron Leaman. Because his photography and what he does is interesting.

10. Cote Soleils Weblog. Because I watched her on Un Diner Presque Parfait (the French version of Come Dine with Me), and not only is she a lovely person, with an interesting job, but she puts nice recipes on her blog.

11. Le Grain de Celle. Because it celebrates the beauty of the freckle.

12. Lilite Dumont. Because I admire how she draws.

13. Emois Luxurieux. This one is also a little bit rude

14. J’adore mon job. Just because, et pourquoi pas (oui je suis toujours la avec mes pourquoi pas).

15. Not lost, just weird. Because I like his tagline, and he’s still breathing, and tells me I’m amazing (I guess I believe flattery way too easy too!).

And that’s all I guess, thanks for sticking with me this far, and latest this week, my own post, entitled how I took up knitting, or something like that.

.

1. The first is that I do need to learn to be more comfortable with myself, and to stick with my conviction of not settling for less than I deserve. Because I do (unashamedly) want a new boyfriend. Because it’s not weak to admit that you need someone (which might be something you’ve always known if you’ve been wise and clever, this is something however that I have had to learn), but I don’t need someone to complete me (if there is indeed something that is complete, I can do that for myself, as it is I hope I am never complete and always carry on learning). I need someone to be in harmony with me, and to help me through those moments where I want to take everything away from the world but him. I’d quite like him to be completely distracted by my being naked around him (and not to ask what the point of lingerie is when it just comes off anyway, especially not when the lingerie has come from a marvellous little shop known as Les Poupees Russes, under an archway in Le Mans). You get my point, I would rather be in love than heart-broken, but I am not going to lower my expectations.

Of course there are others, the more normal things  where I’d like to get more exercise, fit into smaller clothes, be a better friend, learn to speak Italian, the Argentine tango, scuba-diving, and how to play the saxophone. With you, I think I will just share my artistic ambitions, and imaginations.

2. To continue to let my human conditions shape my inspiration. To believe in my talent, to want to become an illustrator, to continue to dream, and want to be an artists. Which I can, will do without giving into the mundane, I just maybe need to get up earlier so I can do both. I don’t like pushing myself, I get knocked down when I get a no, but if this is what I want to do then I guess I’m going to have  to grow-up (in a sense) to face that. Because if I can draw, I just need to find my market, and someone who believes in me. Because if I don’t who will?

So yes, as long as I am ready, it is easy enough to say. Because after all, it is like I have always said before. I’m vulnerable, therein lies my strength, I know myself but am learning more everyday, it’s not art for arts sake, its art for my sake, and as long as I’m still breathing, it will be, and I will be, following my art to soothe my heart! Happy New Year!

(Oh and as long as I am being vulnerable, and honest, in 2012 I would really like to learn how to draw hands and feet, because I cannot keep on leaving them out of my drawings).

I decided weeks ago that 2012 has to be the year I give up self-effacing thoughts; I have decided to write two things for this painting to get them off my chest before this year is out. The first more about me, the second less so, but still one of the same (both as narcissistic as the other). So here goes (with an intake of breath, and a bit of courage), with a slight personal bequest first; if you have not yet opened that bottle of wine I gave you, you might want to by the end of this, sorry!

Firstly, I had a comment on my blog recently that mentioned how essential it is for an artist to have one remaining part of their naivety, which they can be inspired by as though they were still a child. And I just needed to state again, how, no matter what may happen I shall not lose that. Because it is my inspiration, good or bad. Moreover, seem as my heart has yet to beat hollow, I need to give up thinking it is my fault, or that it is me that’s not good enough. Though perhaps this is not something I’ve ever been good at, I thought I might just give it a go, just once now before the end of the year!

I can do this now because I did miss you, and how we were before, which quite frankly took me by surprise. Like I didn’t know how to write to you or talk to you anymore. So…. well I might as well give it a go, swallow hard (with no euphemism intended), and take a chance. Because if you never do, then how would I ever know if an unrequited something, could be more than a something. (Yes, I know, I am an idiot and as much as I would like to cheeky, teasing and naughty, for once I will be a little bit serious). Though I should also say I would be better at this in French, because in English somehow I lose all my feminine wiles and powers of seduction.

The root of the problem, is of course as simple as a lack of confidence in myself, that and pride. Not wanting to make an idiot of myself, scared I will end up getting hurt, or ruin everything, or get laughed at behind my back. (High maintenance, me? I didn’t used to think so!). I believe you cannot hold onto someone who doesn’t want to stay, or make someone love you who does not want to. Nevertheless, at the same time you cannot lose what you’ve never had (so to speak, with no closed doors), and you’d never get anything if you didn’t try. Therefore, I have to learn to express my feelings (I know I do that so eloquently here normally, but I mean seriously!), and tell them, so dealing with my unrequited something (and the reason I’m doing it now, here, not just sending you an e-mail, because that e-mail would probably be embarrassing, and sat there is your inbox with me as the sender, no thank you, this is much better! Somehow, maybe, but just believe it is genuine).

Because this is quite courageous for me, because now I cannot deny it is about you if you ever asked me. Because you would not believe me even if I did, right? At least maybe, if you could, please, just smile, and think that’s nice, it is nice someone can think of me like that (again)! (Then just answer one question for the part of me that dreams of being an artist (because I do love having an unrequited something of a crush, that goes ggggrrrrrrr in text messages, it’s tremendous inspiration. I know what I prefer more, but that is just too much even for me to write here), what was it like for the two weeks of my craziness (yes I know, I was pretty bad) being a sort of artist’s muse? Even if you were not in the drawings and sketches, you were behind the thoughts when I was doing them).

That’s all! Thank you for following me so far. I should probably also say to you while you enjoy that glass of wine, you might not hear from me for a while, because I will be too embarrassed and really not know what to say. Now I am going to spend some time in the shower, because it is as good a place as any to think through the things in my head, whilst trying not to wish I’d left the things I have written unsaid. Then when that doesn’t work, tomorrow I will go sales shopping, have lunch in a pub, and maybe eat some banana cheesecake (because that I like)! Then watch ‘Some Like it Hot’, which was a Christmas present, and then maybe ‘Guys and Dolls’ after, because everybody needs a little bit of Marlon Brando in their life. Bisous!

]]> http://theartandillustrationsoflauradavies.wordpress.com/2011/12/29/because-sometimes-even-i-can-do-something-a-bit-brave-and-a-little-embarrassing-or-how-im-planning-to-deal-with-my-unrequited-something-of-a-crush/feed/ 39 theartandillustrationsoflauradavies DSC02399 http://theartandillustrationsoflauradavies.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/in-case-you-didnt-know-all-i-want-for-christmas/ http://theartandillustrationsoflauradavies.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/in-case-you-didnt-know-all-i-want-for-christmas/#comments Wed, 21 Dec 2011 15:46:56 +0000 Laura Davies http://theartandillustrationsoflauradavies.wordpress.com/?p=431 Read More

What I would like for Christmas is someone to appreciate my Christmas stockings with me, is that too much to ask? I guess it would be if I added, someone who knows how to use them too, and can have his own kind of (risque) thoughts to rival my own. Maybe someone who bought me stockings too, and in case you didn’t know too small is just as insulting as too large!

Merry Christmas.

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I once spent a blissful two hours in the shower with the ex-blue-shirted boyfriend (because there’s some things a girl never gets tired of, others she should be good at, that and he lived in an apartment with an apparently endless supply of hot water). So why even now, as we are trying to find our feet as friends after the forced ending of our relationship, do I still question whether he really ever loved me at all when he doesn’t answer an e-mail I sent him as quickly as I would like.

Is it because I have that little faith in myself? Is it because my little sister always thought he was a twat? Is it because my Mum still thinks I need to fight harder for him? On the other hand, is it simply because that is the way these things work, that it is the one thing even I can’t question, and I simply have to accept.

To trust in the moments of doubt is a strength I have yet to find in myself, with anyone. Therefore, I guess I still have something to hope for with someone else. Moreover, as well as that he has something to live up to in the shower (I say with a smile on my face).

I guess it would be an advantage as well if he could get on well with my sister, and impress my Mum!

When the painting is finished it will be posted, so far it is really pleasing me, and not just because I’m smiling when I’m doing it.

May I retreat into my imagination now please?

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves.

Which you should always remember, no matter how horrendous, hideous, and hormonal you feel you should never put the real you away in the shelf. Not even for a second, if you can help it.