Preamble: This vintage postcard is one of hundreds I have in my collection. Unlike most it has no writing on the back, no postage stamp and nothing to tell of its age. It’s French, that I know. And although I have researched extensively, “Angelique” (as I’ve named her) remains a mystery. I’ve always loved this image. I find it peaceful and beautiful. On that note, here’s a little story I wrote…from Angelique.
I am Angelique.
Ce n’est pas mon nom, but it is the name the artist has given me.
He is an interesting fellow. Short, squat, with a goatee and tiny moustache. He wears funny little wire spectacles and is prone to bursts of “mon Dieu” and “mais oui” as he steps back from the canvas to critique his work.
He has said very little to me, other than “ma cherie ne bouge pas” or “parfaite” or “superbe”.
I am not sure how long I’ve held this pose, but it does not bother me. I am conscious only of preventing the draping to slip from my bosom. A bit of a challenge as my arm tires slightly. I must also be sure to keep my hand relaxed, as Monsieur desires for his painting to breathe peace to the viewer, and in his words, capture for all time a serene, angelic pose.
Monsieur found me in a small cafe on rue Sebastian. He nearly toppled over my table as he rushed to take my hands in his, staring into my eyes and saying “tu dois t’asseoir pour moi”…you must sit for me.
Perhaps I should have been shocked or afraid, but I was neither. There was something about this funny little man that put me at ease. He gave me his calling card and now, days later, here I sit.
I wonder what will become of the painting.
Will it one day sit in a famous gallery?
Or will it reside only in Monsieur’s studio, never to see the light of day.
One can only wonder.
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