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Authors: Alex Michaelides
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on, Alicia.”
“What?
“I don’t know about that, love. I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think? Painting me on the cross? What are people going to say?”
“Since when do you care what people say?”
“I don’t, not about most things, but—I mean, they might think that’s how you see me.”
I laughed. “I don’t think you’re the son of God, if that’s what you mean. It’s just an image—something that happened organically while I was painting. I haven’t consciously thought about it.”
“Well, maybe you should think about it.”
“Why? It’s not a comment on you, or our marriage.”
“Then what is it?”
“How should I know?”
Gabriel laughed at this and rolled his eyes. “All right. Fuck it. If you want. We can try. I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
That doesn’t sound like much of an endorsement. But I know Gabriel believes in me and my talent—I’d never be a painter if it weren’t for him. If he hadn’t needled and encouraged and bullied me, I’d never have kept going during those first few dead years after college, when I was painting walls with Jean-Felix. Before I met Gabriel, I lost my way, somehow—I lost myself. I don’t miss those druggy partiers who passed for friends during my twenties. I only ever saw them at night—they vanished at dawn, like vampires fleeing the light. When I met Gabriel, they faded away into nothing, and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t need them anymore; I didn’t need anyone now I had him. He saved me—like Jesus. Maybe that’s what the painting is about. Gabriel is my whole world—and has been since the day we met. I’ll love him no matter what he does, or what happens—no matter how much he upsets me—no matter how untidy or messy he is—how thoughtless, how selfish. I’ll take him just as he is.
Until death do us part.
JULY 21
Today Gabriel came and sat for me in the studio.
“I’m not doing this for days again,” he said. “How long are we talking about?”
“It’s going take more than one session to get it right.”
“Is this just a ploy to spend more time together? If so, how about we skip the preamble and go to bed?”
I laughed. “Maybe afterwards. If you’re good and don’t fidget too much.”
I positioned him standing in front of the fan. His hair blew in the breeze.
“How should I look?” He struck a pose.
“Not like that. Just be yourself.”
“Don’t you want me to adopt an anguished expression?”
“I’m not sure Jesus was anguished. I don’t see him like that. Don’t pull any faces—just stand there. And don’t move.”
“You’re the boss.”
He stood for about twenty minutes. Then he broke the pose, saying he was tired.
“Sit down, then. But don’t talk. I’m working on the face.”
Gabriel sat on a chair and kept quiet while I worked. I enjoyed painting his face. It’s a good face. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, elegant nose. Sitting there with the spotlight on him, he looked like a Greek statue. A hero of some kind.
But something was wrong. I don’t know what—maybe I was pushing too hard. I just couldn’t get the shape of his eyes right, nor the color. The first thing I ever noticed about Gabriel was the sparkle in his eyes—like a tiny diamond in each iris. But now for some reason I couldn’t catch it. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough—or maybe Gabriel has something extra that can’t be captured in paint. The eyes remained dead, lifeless. I could feel myself getting annoyed.
“Fuck,” I said. “It’s not going well.”
“Time for a break?”
“Yeah. Time for a break.”
“Shall we have sex?”
That made me laugh. “Okay.”
Gabriel jumped up, took hold of me, and kissed me. We made love in the studio, there on the floor.
The whole time, I kept glancing at the lifeless eyes in Gabriel’s portrait. They were staring at me, burning into me. I had to turn away.
But I could still feel them watching.
CHAPTER TWO
I WENT TO
“What?
“I don’t know about that, love. I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think? Painting me on the cross? What are people going to say?”
“Since when do you care what people say?”
“I don’t, not about most things, but—I mean, they might think that’s how you see me.”
I laughed. “I don’t think you’re the son of God, if that’s what you mean. It’s just an image—something that happened organically while I was painting. I haven’t consciously thought about it.”
“Well, maybe you should think about it.”
“Why? It’s not a comment on you, or our marriage.”
“Then what is it?”
“How should I know?”
Gabriel laughed at this and rolled his eyes. “All right. Fuck it. If you want. We can try. I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
That doesn’t sound like much of an endorsement. But I know Gabriel believes in me and my talent—I’d never be a painter if it weren’t for him. If he hadn’t needled and encouraged and bullied me, I’d never have kept going during those first few dead years after college, when I was painting walls with Jean-Felix. Before I met Gabriel, I lost my way, somehow—I lost myself. I don’t miss those druggy partiers who passed for friends during my twenties. I only ever saw them at night—they vanished at dawn, like vampires fleeing the light. When I met Gabriel, they faded away into nothing, and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t need them anymore; I didn’t need anyone now I had him. He saved me—like Jesus. Maybe that’s what the painting is about. Gabriel is my whole world—and has been since the day we met. I’ll love him no matter what he does, or what happens—no matter how much he upsets me—no matter how untidy or messy he is—how thoughtless, how selfish. I’ll take him just as he is.
Until death do us part.
JULY 21
Today Gabriel came and sat for me in the studio.
“I’m not doing this for days again,” he said. “How long are we talking about?”
“It’s going take more than one session to get it right.”
“Is this just a ploy to spend more time together? If so, how about we skip the preamble and go to bed?”
I laughed. “Maybe afterwards. If you’re good and don’t fidget too much.”
I positioned him standing in front of the fan. His hair blew in the breeze.
“How should I look?” He struck a pose.
“Not like that. Just be yourself.”
“Don’t you want me to adopt an anguished expression?”
“I’m not sure Jesus was anguished. I don’t see him like that. Don’t pull any faces—just stand there. And don’t move.”
“You’re the boss.”
He stood for about twenty minutes. Then he broke the pose, saying he was tired.
“Sit down, then. But don’t talk. I’m working on the face.”
Gabriel sat on a chair and kept quiet while I worked. I enjoyed painting his face. It’s a good face. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, elegant nose. Sitting there with the spotlight on him, he looked like a Greek statue. A hero of some kind.
But something was wrong. I don’t know what—maybe I was pushing too hard. I just couldn’t get the shape of his eyes right, nor the color. The first thing I ever noticed about Gabriel was the sparkle in his eyes—like a tiny diamond in each iris. But now for some reason I couldn’t catch it. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough—or maybe Gabriel has something extra that can’t be captured in paint. The eyes remained dead, lifeless. I could feel myself getting annoyed.
“Fuck,” I said. “It’s not going well.”
“Time for a break?”
“Yeah. Time for a break.”
“Shall we have sex?”
That made me laugh. “Okay.”
Gabriel jumped up, took hold of me, and kissed me. We made love in the studio, there on the floor.
The whole time, I kept glancing at the lifeless eyes in Gabriel’s portrait. They were staring at me, burning into me. I had to turn away.
But I could still feel them watching.
CHAPTER TWO
I WENT TO
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