Monday, 28 April 2014

Plans for dinner

Here, in Nice, things get really, really interesting. Being in the proximity of Matisse gives me the frissons I’m sure many are familiar with; especially those who have visited the place.
But that’s not all. A little thing that happened to me needs to be mentioned here, at least as an element of colour. I was in the Matisse Museum the other day, engrossed in the contemplation of two particular pieces which resonated solidly with my latest assignment. They’re not the object of this post, so I’m not going to talk about them. What is, though, significant is this man I met in the museum. As I was standing in the middle of the gallery, I could feel it like something solid, something abrasive against the back of my head. When I turned around it wasn’t even hard to notice him. His eyes were so intently glued on me there was no doubt he’d been staring at me for a very long time. Well, it turned out he knew me. I sometimes get this buzz from people who stop me on the street to tell me they’ve attended my lectures, read my articles, browsed my blog. Well, what can I say? He seemed to be one of those. But then he started talking about Matisse and everything changed. The man is nuts about the artist. He never called him by his name, but always used the sobriquet ‘the Master.’ He knew so much about Matisse, I ended up liking him. So I accepted his invitation to have dinner together. If nothing else, at least I can capture some of this craze from him. It’s something I need, considering the assignment I’m working on, in which Matisse is the central point. I think he was more curious than I would normally allow strangers to have in my proximity and in relation to my person. I saw him throwing glances at the printed photo I had in my hand, and that was not a thing I would normally take lightly. The print was a professional secret, but he stared at it like a hungry wolf eyeing the lamb that’s going to make its next meal. Speaking of which, I’m now ready to see what comes out of this dinner. Donald, my dear, here I come.

No comments:

Post a Comment