Adel Creates

"Noble’s Pretense"

On mornings where I have no scheduled portraitures for the day, I and my bookkeeper attend to a few lords and ladies who browse through my shop for paintings on sale or carved frames for their own. Among those who browse is a man in an embellished teal coat and an ornate rapier dangling by his left hip. Quite a sociable man as he joins in on other patrons’ perusing from time to time, “That one matches your eyes, my lady.”

“You really think so?” she returns. It adds some colour to these steadily-paced hours where the morning meets the afternoon. But the man is merely distracted by his eagerness to make company. He is in fact dressed to request for a portrait, particularly because he had just purchased a new set of, oh what did he call it, justacorps and would like to preserve this look in a painting. He talks of journeying to a place called...Bavaria? I have never heard of it, but I hope his new look is enough for the city to welcome this friendly man.

"Past the Seeing Eye"

First on the list, done. Second, done. Third, done. All of it, followed by flicks of the man’s ink. “Pleasure, I am Henry. You must be Adel.” He was thoroughly absorbed by the itinerary on his sheet and aims to tick them all to completion, including today’s portraiture for the duchess he escorts. We have concluded a transaction with him making little eye contact. It was one task after another.

“Let’s get this done,” says Lady Alicia. Our hands shake through magic, whoa….

As soon as we sit down, silence befalls the studio. She keeps a stern expression and faces only forward, her blue falcon scanning the room for her. The hours never grow dull. She stays still and upright, but once in a while, her eyes squint with curiosity, studying every detail of my easel, my brushes, my floorboards. Her eyes follow my every move, her ever observing eyes that paint a picture of me in her head. I only wonder what else she sees.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

“Thank you for coming!” Once, twice, three times. I remember closing my doors to the man in the silken red shirt too many times. He was incrementally closer to the minute every single time. His expression, always dismayed at the exact same words, “Thank you for coming!” He waits again.

Though sometimes, fate is playful. He was the second customer and brought no lute this time. Instead, a rose. “Ciao! My name is Alfonso.” How did I resist the smooth charms of this man before? I had finally given time for his portraiture. A natural he was, posing as if he had practiced in front of the mirror a few times, but oh silly me. He was dressed early for a reason. The rose was not for anyone else but for the lady he anticipates at the docks. He then waits again.

"Untethered Esteem"

I see them approaching. The lady with the crystalline fluid hair eagerly pulls her beloved by the hand. I continue cleaning my jars, but I can already hear it all even from inside. The silence breaks with my chimes announcing their arrival. It has been a very special week for them both, Sir Diego introducing her as his betrothed. I promised for their portraits to be just as special.

I learned to become comfortable with intimacy in the studio. Love is a rare moment that can only be captured when I am looking, but I will admit. Perhaps, I should not be looking right now. Past the playful romance, he takes her hand, and with their sincerest of gazes, they both sigh with the excitement of the uncertain future.

There it is, blowing in the wind and slipping through the cracks of the doors. The purple glow lands gently upon my desk. I blink twice to understand what I see. No, not a falling leaf. It is a fella, smartly dressed and decorated. He fixes his coat, almost displeased that the little illusory drumrolls I play are not a call to action but a mere call for his attention. “Hello, sir! This painting on the leaf, it is you, isn’t it? I attempted to capture your likeness in my own painting. Not as impressionistic as yours, but I hoped I came close.” He takes my gift, quite impressed that I had painted it on a tiny canvas.

“She’s going to like this,” he says with a cheeky smile. He slaps his forehead as if remembering something, “Oh, shoot! I must find my way home! Will you help me?”