The Tears of an Artist

Pablo was not a shoemaker, was not even a cobbler, and yet the striking statement he said when he first met with Dora at the White Horse Bar was, “I love your shoes.”

“What!” Dora looked at her simple yellow shoes. Then looked into Pablo’s eyes. “Baby, are you drunk?”

“No, I’m fine.” Pablo pointed to his French beret, “I’m painter, sculptor, printmaker. I’m an artist.”

“So!”

“Ah. So, I love your shoes. I already told you that I loved your shoes. It’s yellow; it gets attention faster than any other color.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m Pablo. I’m an artist, and I want to paint your shoes.”

“You want what?” Dora looked again at her simple yellow shoes “ But it’s not the only yellow shoes in the world!”

“I know. But it’s not only the color. It’s the combination of your legs and the yellow shoes.”

Dora looked at her legs, “But, I see nothing special in my legs.”

“It’s not your legs. It’s the combination of all of you. Your body, your hair, your dress; all these things together give the ultimate value to your shoes.”

“Are you sure you’re not mad?”

“No, I’m Pablo. I’m an artist.”

“Pablo, are you sure you’re not rude. All the good you see in me, as a man, that I give value to my shoes.”

“No, It’s not what I see as a man. It’s what I see as an artist. It’s your shoes through the eye of an artist.”

Dora looked again at her simple yellow shoes and spoke with herself loudly, “My shoes through the eye of an artist! My shoes through the eye of an artist! So funny! All I see in my shoes are just a pair of shoes.”

“But I see in your shoes my future.” Pablo said, “I see in your shoes my future as an artist.”

“You see your future as an artist through my shoes?”

“ Yes. Your shoe painting will take its prestigious place in the Louvre. Maybe next to the Mona Lisa.”

“In the Louvre and next to the Mona Lisa!” Dora measured Pablo from his French beret down to his shoes and smirked, “ are you sure you are making sense?”

Yes. And critics would wonder what is unique in that painting! Journalists would ask the same. And I would never tell my secret. I would never say that I worked hard to put all my longing for a feminine woman in that painting.”

“Feminine woman!” Dora’s face got longer and revealed sudden anger, “Did you say, feminine woman?”

“Yes, I did,” Pablo answered. He did not notice that his statement had hit a nerve. He wanted to talk more about his understanding of art and femininity, but Dora did not give him a chance.

“So, all this bluffing, nonsense, the Louvre, and Mona Lisa, because you are longing for a feminine woman!” Dora said in a sarcastic tone, “because you are longing for a woman who is only devoted to her husband and children’s wellbeing and consider this as her career?” Dora asked the bartender Yola to get her one more drink. And turned back to Pablo, “Can’t you understand that man and woman roles are all mixed up in our day and age, and they’re equal in both rights and responsibilities?”

“Of course I understand. I’m Pablo. I’m an artist.”

Dora ignored Pablo’s answer and spoke with the bartender. “ Yola, Would you tell this man that the classic male and female roles are just the remaining of old tory beliefs.”

Yola made herself busy. She counted, again and again, the money she had just received from one of the regulars.

“Yola, why don’t you say something!”

“Fine.” Yola touched Pablo’s hand and said in a sympathetic tone, “ You know, my friend, some women believe that feminism is more important than femininity.”

“What!” Dora banged on the counter, “you said some women! Then do you exclude yourself? Do you mean you disagree with such belief?”

“I mean, I mean -”

“What do you mean? And why are you still touching this joker’s hand?”

“I’m not a joker.” Pablo objected, “I’m an artist.”

“You’re an artist! How do you dare to claim you are an artist?”

“Because I am Pablo because I’m a great artist.”

“No, you are only an ugly man wearing an artist’s hat,” Dora pointed to Pablo’s French beret. “ All you have seen in me was my yellow shoes.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Pablo objected.

“Ah, you have also seen my legs and my body,” Dora reached Pablo’s French beret and threw it away. “You see. Now without your funny hat, you look like all other men. Men who are masking their desire and pretending they’re open-minded till they bring the woman to their bed and then manipulate her and try to turn her into a slave. A slave to bring children and devote her life to serve them and their kids.”

“But I’m not like this!”

“All men are the same. They’re a bunch of jokers or worse.” Dora said in a loud voice and rushed out of the bar leaving Pablo confused and crying.

‘ But I’m not a joker,’ Pablo said in silence. ‘I’m an artist looking for a woman who inspires me. A woman who enjoys femininity’s power and authority. A woman who lives her best life. A woman who loves her body, her sexuality, and makes me feel she loves me.’

“Pablo, It’s the last drink’s time. should I serve more beer?” Yola asked.

“No, I’m fine.’ He said and left the bar to go home and sleep alone as he does every night.