I stand in front of my french easel while painting a beautiful view of the west hill-side of the Campidoglio hill that reaches to the ancient theater of Marcello. I turn to see a warmly-dressed and hooded figure looking at my painting. I’m not sure how to respond to his remark but I look at him. In his eyes.
I recognize his face from the past. He was in Celestino Ferraresi’s studio with a group of young artists starting their painting careers shortly after finishing the Academy. Celestino had been their professor but at the time they were painting in his studio, they were just friends and colleagues in art.
‘I know you. You used to hang out at Celestino’s studio,’ I say to him.
He cocks his head slightly to the right and looks at me with a perplexed expression that reveals a level of frustration as well. He remains silent while I tell him my name but he obviously is not able to remember me. I attempt to remember his name but he corrects me.
‘Giovanni. Great place to paint up here,’ he says.
I go back to work and nod with my head. He slowly takes a distance from me and says goodbye. I tell him we’ll see each other soon.
P.S. The week after, I returned to the same place to paint. Giovanni also passed by again and reported that I inspired him to go out and paint en plein air.
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