oOo

I had heard of of Rahman Brigitte AKA Anataalie, a French woman living in Arabia, through the New York artist, Mr. Yustas K. Gottlieb, a talented writer who had published insightful reviews on my paintings.

He told me of how much she had enjoyed one my works called: Drunken Santa.

Yustas had confided in me and said of Anataalie:

"I highly regard her sensitivity in communicative arts. I am sure that she has to continue to work in the literary area and mature to some serious body of work. I had a chance to read her poems before and they contain human feelings without pretense and with temperament that I sympathize with personally. Adding to this, her star-like appearance creates
real magical impact on her readers. I hope Jaisini that you will meet her too."

It so happened that last May 2001, I was to be in London and that Anataalie was in town. I was pretty depressed with life and art, and decided to give her a call and find out what it was that she found so remarkable in my art.

We agreed to meet for dinner the same day in San Lorenzo, her favorite Italian restaurant in West London, so she said on the phone.

I had arrived a little ahead at 9pm and sat at the table for two, I had reserved.

The prices on the menu looked pretty stiff, and I was not even sure I would be able to pay that kind of a bill.

As I was lost in the materialist thoughts of the exploited artist I had become, a woman entered. Heads turned, there was something very unusual in the way she walked or stood. I was shocked by the opulence of her outfit, she was wearing a long dark blue velvet off shoulder gown on which she had casually thrown a lilac pashmini scarf, and she wore dark blue gloves…

She actually dazzled: she had long shining auburn hair, vivid brown-emerald eyes, and she was adorned with diamonds that threw sparkle against sparkle from her ears to her neck, from her neck to her wrist and fingers, from her hands to her ankle. Yes that too :she was wearing an unusual diamond bracelet on her left ankle.

She was quite a sight, yet there was a deep softness about her: her walk was silent and her voice was gentle and low. It was she of course: Anataalie or Rahman, Brigitte arlette.

As she approached our table with a smile, I have to admit that I felt weak in the knees. But soon as she sat, my anxiety vanished, when she declared with a gentle laugh:

"Forgive me, artist, I need to drink an expresso and look at the bottom of the cup. Give me five minutes, will ya?"

She was like a little girl. I watched her, amazed and already seduced.

When she had played her little girl's trick, and had managed to put me at ease, we started to talk of life and art, of art and life. I soon discovered that she had in fact read very little, and was leading, back in Arabia. a very reclusive life whereas she did not even watch the television, or read newspapers. She just abhorred intellectualism, she was the movement and the moment, and she despised yesterday as much as she did tomorrow.

Nevertheless, I felt myself wanting desperately to please her, to show off to her and I talked of writers long dead, of painters whose graves I had visited. She sneered and threw me a ferocious look. I felt defeated. I asked her:

"Anataalie, it seems you do not like me."

She replied:

"Jaisini, why on earth should I like you or dislike you? You are the illusion and the magician, and I am the medium."

I was startled by her reply.

She planted her gaze in my eyes, motionless, and she practically hypnotized me. Her mind forced mine to return to the artist's workshop I had left behind. I saw , in that motionless thought, myself in New York in front of a canvass painting a woman, a beautiful woman: Anataalie.

I woke up from the waking dream and I said:

"Anataalie, you made me paint a mental tarot card of you. You are a model, aren't you? You once were in love with an artist who painted you, weren't you?

She did not reply but she was pleased.

We stayed in that little restaurant for another two hours eating at random: sometimes something salty, sometimes something sweet , and we mixed the cappuccinos with the Chianti. I was a happy man, all eyes were on our table, and she did not seem to care.

She had been acting all evening and she knew I understood.

She was an expert in reviving dying hopes.

Because that woman did give me a new reason to live, to paint:
……..The Tarot Card of Anataalie….

As it was time to leave, I asked for the bill. She understood the thoughts I had before her arrival in San Lorenzo Restaurant. She said with her typical gentle laughter:

"But there is no bill, Jaisini, they charge my account. You see this is my favorite place, I come here with the people who will have a meaning in my life. Do you actually carry money with you? We are in the electronic age, you know. Money is dirty, leave it in the bank and let them put tabs on you. I do so always, I help create new job openings too."

This time, I laughed long and hard. She was an expert in putting people at ease.

As we left, I asked Anataalie:

"May I see you again, soon?"

Anataalie closed her eyes for a while and said:

"No, Jaisini, we shall never meet again"

I felt a deep pain, and yet a deep hope because I knew that I was going to paint the Tarot Card of Anataalie, and that magical card would bring her back to me.

I stood there as she boarded a taxi and got lost in the London Night. I shivered from a sudden sense of loss, of loneliness.

The next day, I flew back to New York, my friend Yustas was at the airport and asked me, with a little twinkle in his eyes:

"So, did you meet her? How did you find her? She is such a mysterious woman"

I was already jealous of Yustas and casually replied:

"Brigitte is my kind of woman, living fast and being adventurous, keeping herself attractive to a man. But of course I am a romantic."

Rahman, Brigitte arlette had set a new magical course in my life, "une oeuvre d'art a naitre" :

The tarot Card d'Anataalie par Paul Jaisini

My last masterpiece, the one that will bring her back to me.

Paul Jaisini.
Surrealist Painter
C/o
Yustas K Gottlieb