I met an Artist the other day while browsing the seedy shops and local flavor of the Marina Road on the waterfront of the Bay of Naples. He introduced himself to me as Svettio. He is, like most of his kind, a pauper, working for handouts and bits of coin. Yet he is unlike the others in that I sense in him a communal flame that burns by the fire of the Muses, and like me, he is driven.
I watched him for many hours, painting at his easel like a madman. Svettio wore no shirt, and his hair and chest were flecked with the multi oil colors of his palette. For a long time he paid me no mind, yet at some point the Artist became aware of me and graced me with a bit of coy flirtation.
Later that night, when I spoke to Marius of the Artist, he tried to dispel some of my notion that the Artist is as infatuated with me, as I am of him. Marius says that all gypsies are hustlers, and that I am just an unwitting mark. It is simply that Svettio assumes because I dress in fine clothing, that I have coin to squander.
But I cannot subscribe into this theory. I admire the intelligence and insight of my Master, but I am sure on this account.. he is wrong.
I've met with Svettio several more times since that first encounter, and he has assured me on each occasion that I am far too beautiful not to be captured on canvas by his hand. The fee is so nominal -- just six sestertii.
On our last meeting he took me to his studio, which was little more than a grotto chisled into the stone support beam beneath one of the piers, and I became for him a welcomed succor wherein he emptied his lust into me between ravaging kisses.
I fear I will do anything to obtain those six measly bronze coins.
I am not a hustler's mark.
I am the possessed lover of a rising star -- Svettio the Artist.
And I believe his name shall be upon the lips of the avant garde, not only in Pompeii, but in every city within Rome's vast empire.
In every house.
And beating with passion in every breast.
I watched him for many hours, painting at his easel like a madman. Svettio wore no shirt, and his hair and chest were flecked with the multi oil colors of his palette. For a long time he paid me no mind, yet at some point the Artist became aware of me and graced me with a bit of coy flirtation.
Later that night, when I spoke to Marius of the Artist, he tried to dispel some of my notion that the Artist is as infatuated with me, as I am of him. Marius says that all gypsies are hustlers, and that I am just an unwitting mark. It is simply that Svettio assumes because I dress in fine clothing, that I have coin to squander.
But I cannot subscribe into this theory. I admire the intelligence and insight of my Master, but I am sure on this account.. he is wrong.
I've met with Svettio several more times since that first encounter, and he has assured me on each occasion that I am far too beautiful not to be captured on canvas by his hand. The fee is so nominal -- just six sestertii.
On our last meeting he took me to his studio, which was little more than a grotto chisled into the stone support beam beneath one of the piers, and I became for him a welcomed succor wherein he emptied his lust into me between ravaging kisses.
I fear I will do anything to obtain those six measly bronze coins.
I am not a hustler's mark.
I am the possessed lover of a rising star -- Svettio the Artist.
And I believe his name shall be upon the lips of the avant garde, not only in Pompeii, but in every city within Rome's vast empire.
In every house.
And beating with passion in every breast.
Posts
