I sat out in La Daurade at around 13h30, intending to study my hour of algebra for the day. Walking out of my apartment, the blinding sunlight enveloped me as I walked down the ramp to the riverside. Already full of people, the lawn was the image of perfection: 20-22 degrees celsius with a light wind.
I decide to absorb the ambiance before getting to work. This consisted of a short nap, breathing in the sweet smell of spring, and heat of the sun. When I took out my notes, I actually decided to look ahead into the course (about time; my last class is next monday), then started translating the text from french to english in order to better understand the concepts and proofs. About 30 minutes into this enduring process, an early middle-aged man approached me.
“Parlez-vous Francais?” he asks me. He didn’t seem like the kind of sneaky person who would try to ask money or steal something, so I replied nicely, “Oui.. un peu,” to which he smiles and explains that he is an artist, and does drawings of people writing or doing something active. After drawing, he hopes that I put the drawing in a book, and leave it there for others to discover. “C’est comme le secret du livre,” he says, pulling his lips into a smile, exposing his impeccably straight, but slightly coffee-stained teeth. He says it’s not for money, just for pleasure. I take the liberty to come to his conclusion for him.. “Alors, tu voudrais dessiner un portrait du moi?” The light in his eyes contained the answer, as he sat himself about a meter in front of me, pulling out his notebook, and charcoal-stick set.
I was sitting in a sort of “hurdler position” with my left leg bent towards the back, the right straight out. Continuing my work, I kind of forgot about the artist, absorbed in my thoughts. At a certain point, my leg starts felling numb, so I straighten it out. Clod exclaims, “Vous n’avez pas besoin de rester dans le meme position juste pour moi!” I explain that I literally forgot he was there, i was so absorbed in my work :).
After I finish translating a kind of confusing demonstration, I throw my pen down, and notice that Clod had already finished the drawing and had been just watching me for the last couple of minutes. When I looked up at him, he smiled once again, adjusting his straw hat, then titles the drawing “Le gout de l’effort”, and signs it in red. He tells me he will go somewhere less hot, likening the area I’m in with an oven – indeed it was like that, with three sides lined by a two – three story tall brick wall, the last side opening to the river.
That is when I realized my back was probably not the same color it was when I left my apartment that morning.. indeed when I got back home, the mirror’s reflection revealed a pink square-like area that I had neglected to put sunscreen on… ouch.