Brushstroke

Fiction

The model in the paintings was so striking Marlena wouldn’t have been surprised if Tina had already purchased a painting.

The artist-Marlena assumed it was the artist, as so few of these small festival tents seemed to have more than one person working- was wrapping a large piece for another customer.

The new customer with his wrapped painting lingered, making small talk.

Marlena held eye contact with the woman, who politely but firmly told the man she had to deal with another customer.

“Hi,” the artist said.

Marlena swallowed, felt tingly.

If the person wrapping paintings wasn’t the artist, she was definitely the model.

In all the paintings Marlena had seen, the model was nude or partially so.

The woman in front of her had the same black hair to her shoulders, same hazel eyes, and in a nicely fitting jumpsuit, seemed to have the same figure.

Boys on skateboards prohibited on the festival grounds hopped off their decks when they saw the art.

When they saw Marlena looking they slowly moved along, their eyes over their shoulder for twenty feet.

“Hi,” Marlena said. She nodded at where the boys had been. “Bet that’s a common reaction.”

“Not sure,” the black-haired woman said “ it’s my first festival with this series.”

“So you’re the artist as well as…”

“Yep, all self-portraits.”

“They’re lovely…you’re lov- Sorry. Forgive me. The work, the quality of the work is lovely.”

“Thanks,”: the artist said, “for whatever compliments. Any piece you like in particular?”

Marlena’s head turned toward where she came. For the first time she noticed gaps in the wire mesh display wall where presumably paintings had hung before purchase.