Even light hides things. Incomprehensible perhaps, but I couldn’t think otherwise.
I unclosed the main window in my studio and light, that light as horrible as darkness, seeped in my office with innate irreverence, enlightening with annoying accuracy every detail: the creases on the red sofa, the wooden chairs’ rottenness, the ashtray still fumy, the dust on the transparent glass of the table and those dangling sheets.
I stared at them too, hands on hips.
Their lifeless faces, black, printed on that white cloth so immaculate, hung as trophies on the walls, gave me a sense of deep fulfilment. Then my eyes focused on the white door.
The writing on a board displayed: "Eh! Bien! Non!". I smiled satisfied.
I would have added another one.
Jasmine, was her name. I think. She was sitting in my studio with her legs crossed, red heels, crimson lips, a colourful dress - particularly revealing-, a thick straight blonde mane that brushed her shoulders and a bothersome French accent.
- Thank you Mr. Mason- she said with her shrill voice.
- I hope my shooting will be fabulous-.
I lit a cigarette and the smoke, thick and tired, went up to the top covering my faltering sneer.
- Don’t worry, darling. Don’t worry-.
She smiled and, after finishing her cigarette, got up standing upright in all her splendour. The light threw up its beams past the window pane, enlightening her perfect skin and probably veiling shapes even more ideal in the shades of her dress.
- Why do you think you’ve been called?-.
Jasmine, or whatever was her name, looked at me a little bit surprised. Her eyebrow drafted an unusual parabola and I felt satisfied with that expression.
- Because of my beauty- she hesitated. Like being aware of her own beauty were a sin.
I smiled while setting the roll of the reflex camera. I looked downward while the cigarette’s smoke precarious on her lips exhaled her weary and voluptuous breathings.
- Correct. And what is beauty for you?- I persisted.
Jasmine vacillated once again. She started. An awkward silent descended upon us and only the roll’s shots made the non-noise more flavourful. She inhaled determined, as if her thoughts had finally taken shape.
She sat down. – I think beauty is eternity in a trait-.
Sharp. I was astonished.
- Forgive my insolence, thence… do you think your beauty is eternal?-.
One more time she crossed her legs in the other way and so did with her arms. Her lips were sullen.
- I hope so-.
My greedy eyes betrayed me perhaps.
- Relax- said I. – After all, isn’t my responsibility to provide you eternity?-
I knelt down, took the camera to the eye.
And I shot.
The next morning light was still there, in that room, with its rays past the window, lighting up the table, the sofa, my camera, the cigarette butts still exhaling, my satisfied expression and a new sheet.
Pristine and immaculate, stained only by a long black outline.
A young woman. What was her name?
Her terrified look immortalized. The impression led by light broke out on her fears and on her full succulent lips. I didn’t need the roll, I needed her traits. Traits that would have been eternal since that moment, just like she wanted.
Jasmine, yes, probably her name was Jasmine.
Light had covered everything. Again.