"Ochi Belli" Beautiful Eyes by Frederico, Chicago Artist
On a recent trip to Chicago, I was walking down the Miracle Mile one May evening. An artist (picture Antonio Banderas with an easel) was set up outside Crate & Barrel. He had a few charcoal portraits on display : Bob Marley, Barbara Streisand--he was really good at eyes.
My friends and I had gone into Crate & Barrel until they closed that evening. When we came out, the artist was still there. He saw me noticing his work. I was about to compliment his work, when he said, "You! I want to do your portrait. You have beautiful eyes. I can tell you are very sweet, and a good person. Sit down here ..." He was a sweet talker, knew how to play the crowds on Michigan Ave. What woman does NOT like to be so admired and appreciated? I sat down and let him draw my portrait for the next 45 minutes.
It was an odd feeling to be so watched and studied so intently by a handsome stranger. It made me think more about seeing and perception ... What does an artist see? Could he see into my soul? Or was it just merely objective--the shell, but not the real me?--or just my "ochi belli" (beautiful eyes). I'm sure he was pleased someone had shown an interest in his work and talents--a glimmer, a spark of someone seeing and appreciating his work, himself, too.
I tried to make a little small talk--but he was working on the drawing, capturing my eyes. He was Italian and had been in Chicago for the last 5 years. He did murals and landscapes for a living, but the human form was the "first art."
People passing by watched him work, looked at me and smiled. He must have been pretty good! I couldn't see the work in progress. It started to sprinkle and rain a little and we moved into a doorway so he could finish the portrait. At some point I had mentioned my husband had family in France and we visited every other year, or so.
He made me feel like he might even keep the portrait for himself -- I had not come to Chicago to have my portrait done. In the end, he did give it to me. Then he wanted to take me out somewhere (I wonder how often he engages his subjects this way ...) . I said I had a hard time with cigarette smoke ... He said we could avoid smoky places. I said I needed to go back to the hotel with my colleagues. Still he was hopeful I would change my mind later, and gave me his cell phone number. I thanked him, shook his hand, and tried to let him down gently.
He seemed sweet, gentle, kind--yet with that definite Italian machismo. Maybe we could have had just a nice conversation over coffee. Maybe he really did want to get to know me--beyond my "ochi belli." Maybe he does this every night--then takes a beautiful woman on the town? Maybe he was lonely?
I'm just not someone who goes off with a stranger on Michigan Ave. You hear about women drugged, raped, robbed, and sold into slavery ... I know enough not to get myself into such at-risk situations. I also know I have a good thing with my husband, and I would not want to jeopardize that with a one-night stand. In fact, when I got back, I told him all about my little adventure, and how nice it was to be "hit on" when I was starting to feel middle-aged. Fortunately, CL is secure enough not to feel threatened by something like this. He also knows I have a hard time keeping a secret, so he knows he'd know about everything as soon as it happened. He also trusts me to do the right thing.
This was a really nice memory of this trip to Chicago. ;-)
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