He’s sitting maybe ten feet in front of me, eyes buried in his Moleskine sketchbook, hands inching up and down with graphite in hand. I walked past him on my way in, and he was sketching out a contorted looking figure — a skinless man, it appeared, muscular system twisted about in unimaginable ways.
His right ankle rests over his left knee, but his right foot remains restless with a steady, relentless bounce. To his left lies a tall paper cup, empty and kicked over by a breeze. At least eight people walk past him, each slowing to look down at his drawing as they pass. At least eight people are unnoticed, or at the very least ignored, by the man. A tune, one not recognizable to myself, faintly wanders from his iPhone.
Whenever he finishes, his foot stops shaking and he looks up. He takes in his surroundings — I imagine that the man hasn’t bothered to look up since the sun was last up, and it’s been at least two hours since it went down.
What’s he wearing? Black loafers, khaki pants, a white collared shirt and a grey casual vest. The “artiste” look I think he’s striving for is simultaneously pushed forward and held back by his black rim glasses and his cleanly shaven face. One cannot possibly be a starving artist with a clean face…doesn’t he know the rules?
Upon his noticing of the empty coffee cup, he binds his book and struts inside for a refill before returning to his seat. He puts away the graphite and replaces it with an ink pen and reopens his sketchbook. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders back, and then starts his work again.
His phone rudely interrupts the man, ringing out with a generic iPhone tune which forces the artist to pack up and retreat back to his silver car. From my point I cannot hear him talking, but his drawing hand rubs into his forehead in a response to this stressor. The man lights a cigarette, well out of distance from Starbucks’ new “no smoking within 25 feet of stores” policy (something this guy failed to comply with), before stepping into his vehicle and driving off.
I think I’ll see the artist again.