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.
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