We artists have an annual event called, 'The Open Studio Day,' which serves two purposes really, it gives the curious and downright nosey members of the public, the chance to have a look at a working artist's studio, and it also help commercially too, with some people buying pieces of art that they may not have bought otherwise.
It takes up a whole day, so if I'm working on an important commission, or just feel downright bloody minded, I'll be at my easel as usual, working. Funnily enough, most of the people who drop in past seem to like that, they say it gives them a better view of the artistic environment as it really is. Painting as a spectator sport; somehow I don't think it will be clogging up the TV channels as another, 'reality show.'
The open day had been, for me, reasonably successful, with a few pieces sold and some enquiries about commissions, one of which looked particularly promising. It was getting to the end of the day, around 4.30pm, when I noticed a woman, who I estimated, was in her early thirties, studying one of the portraits. She was tall, a brunette, long dark hair, with a lovely slim, but womanly figure.
Now, to be honest, if it had been a man, or an old frumpy matron, I would have left her to it, but since I love women, especially ones that looked like her, I strolled over and asked her if she needed any help. She turned and looked at me, blushing as if she'd been caught out doing something she ought not to have been doing. Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown, her nose, small and regular, a sensual full-lipped mouth and a determined little chin. She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. I looked at the painting she'd been studying so intently and immediately thought there might be some possibilities here.
The painting was a fantasy come bondage type subject I'd done of a friend of mine a few years back. She was standing with her back to the viewer, buttocks exposed, obviously having just been spanked, with her bottom a fiery red. She was also restrained, looking helpless, with a faint, but wicked smile on her beautiful face as she looked back over her shoulder.
The actual scenario had never happened as depicted, it was mostly an imaginative piece, done just for the fun of it, and the friend it was done for asked me to keep it in my studio. Apparently her new husband would never understand that it was all a visual joke and it had never actually happened. Anyway, here I was, asking her if she needed help in front of a rather risqué painting.
'Ah well... no, not really,' she replied, blushing even more as she stumbled over the words.
'You seem to like this painting?' I asked, just curious for the time being. She nodded.
'I find it rather intriguing,' she replied after a moment of thought. 'Is it a work of imagination, wishful thinking, or is it from the life? Does she really exist?' she looked at me then, still blushing faintly.
'It's partly imagination, partly wishful thinking, it is from the life, and she certainly does exist. I've known her for many years,' I replied, adding, 'Does that help you?' She shook her head. 'Would you like me to tell you how and why it was created?' I asked. She seemed to think about it for a moment or two before, reluctantly I thought, replying that she would. So, I told her that I was closing up soon, and if she wished we could sit here in the studio, I would make us tea, coffee, or if she preferred, I had a bottle of white wine in my flat above the studio, which I could fetch down, and drink while we discussed the painting. Again she seemed to think about it for a moment or two before agreeing, more readily this time.
Eventually the last of the stragglers, left and I closed and locked the door behind them. I told her to drag a chair over before the painting, while I went to fetch the wine. I found the wine and glasses straight away, but spent a few minutes tidying the bedroom, just in case things went the way I hoped they would, and then hurried downstairs. She was sitting waiting for me in front of the painting, as I expected, so I pulled up another chair, poured us both a glass of wine and settled down ready to answer her questions. I didn't have to wait long.
'Who is she?' she started.
'She was, well,
is
a friend of mine. A very talented artist in her own right. We met at Art College, and hit it off immediately, but just as friends, although there was always the potential that something more might have developed, always that little sexual tension, a frisson, which was never quite realised.
I can't remember how it came about; it was one of those semi drunken conversations in a pub, but she admitted that she liked the idea of a little bit of pain. I pressed her for more information, because, like you, I was intrigued by the idea. She let slip a few little morsels of information, and then she clammed up. After that, she would never allow herself to be alone with me; something about me knowing her dark secret, which she said she knew I would take advantage of. Believe me when I say, I would have too.'
'So, that's why the painting is entitled, "The Dark Secret?" she asked, smiling. 'Would you have smacked her bottom, inflicted pain on her?'
'Oh yes, not because I'm naturally sadistic, but if a beautiful woman, like her, or yourself for instance,' I added pointedly, 'told me that she enjoyed being spanked. Then I would have no scruples about smacking her, but only if she enjoyed it and spanking gave her pleasure.' She looked a bit tense as I said it, and I thought, 'She likes this.' So, I thought I would just keep going and see where things might end.
'Anyway, in our final year at Art College, I got her to sit for a portrait, just a head and shoulders, looking back at me, because this was my plan all along. I was going to paint this as a keepsake for her in honour of our friendship - it was a joke, but she loved it when she saw it. I gave it to her as a heartfelt token of our friendship, but she refused to take it, asking me instead to keep it in trust for her and promise never to sell it. It was okay as far as she was concerned for me to exhibit the painting, like today, and that's what has happened ever since.'
