In the fourteen years of painting in the street, I thought I had been asked every possible question and had given directions to all known and unknown landmarks in Paris. Until today.
I had been working about half an hour when I saw from the corner of my eye, two kids approach. One waist high. The other two or three inches shorter.
“Madame. S’il vous plait. Madame s’il vous plait”
“Oui.” I didn’t look away from my canvas.
“Est-ce-que on peut vous aider?”
I stopped. “You want to help me? What would you like to do?”
“You know. Paint a little on your canvas.”
“Where’s your mom?” I asked motherly.
“à la maison.” They pointed across the street. They were eyeing the treasure of paint pots sprawled around me. They didn’t see the “I’m- God-when-I-paint” egotistic in front of them, who doesn’t even like advice. I would not even allow my art teachers to touch my oeuvre.
“What color”
“Red!” big brother shouted.
"Blue no green no blue” little brother followed.
I took my smallest brush, mixed a little naphthol red light, and handed it to big brother. “Be careful. Just a dot.”
He slowly outlined a traffic sign. A future engineer, I thought.
Little brother was still undecided between blue or green. An artist, I thought. I mixed some phthalo blue (green shade) on my palette.
“Be careful.” I said. He was so nervous, I’m not sure that he actually touched the canvas. I was looking for my camera. When I finally focused on him. I saw a flashing CHANGE YOUR BATTERIES. They had it right there.
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