we stood by the window, four stories up, looking down at the street where some french girls were sitting in front of a cafe. the gold light from inside trickling on them. Eli shouted at them and they looked up, giggling. we were in his room in the squatting house filled with artists near the church Notre dame Des Lorette. he gave me a tour of the place, in and out of each room, until we reached his, an American from Texas living in Paris, med school drop out, tight dreads that hung to his waist like strong rope tied in a bunch, the last desperate wet dirty brown of a cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth that he lit over and over again, fingers stained with paint of various colors.
it was his brashness that drew me to him in the first place. i almost got hustled near pigale for a large sum of money(they saw me coming, young white boy in the sex district, with back pack no less!) that very day. i made my escape from that surrounding circle of hustlers, crammed in that hallway, in that basement, by making a mad dash and running like i have never ran before, across busy streets of Paris and through labyrinth like turns down side streets. catching my breath, out of sight of those villains, i stumbled upon this place with french artists walking in and out, carrying paintings, smoking cigarettes and tossing indifferent sideway glances at me. i learned that they were preparing for an art show later that night. upon returning later and sitting awkwardly in the corner i had heard through the crowd and from the opposite side of the room the distinct sound of an American speaking English. i could see him there, swirling clouds of smoke in the air, Eli, sitting on a backwards chair, talking to an Asian girl, she seemed stoned as he was picking her up so to speak, i assumed. i jumped at the chance to speak to someone in this new world, which it was to me, so i introduced myself as an American "all alone here". Eli liked my story of strippers and how i arrived there so much that he took me in and up through those rooms introducing me to every painter and their various styles(one room was upside down, armchairs on the ceiling!)
Eli functioned as the patriarch of that tenement, being the oldest(near 40) the blackest, an American who had a show in Berlin plus he occupied the top floor to boot. i sensed that he had a love hate affair going on with all the other artists there and that they detested him but somehow respected him as well. up there that night and looking out the window with Eli, i could see in the distance the purple skies of Paris that Chagall was famous for painting. Eli's paintings were tribal, African influences but he explained to me that he was soon done with this type of art and when i asked him what he'd paint next he responded "ironing boards" paused for a moment and repeated ".........ironing boards".
by the time we climbed down to the streets those giggling girls were gone. Eli invited me to a show a few blocks away, he said a friend of his would be performing. the streets of Paris at night, in my memory, are purple and gold with touches of the most vivid indigo and turquoise, the smell in the air is distinct and one should go there to experience it for themselves. we walked into an empty barroom with a little stage set up like a cabaret. there was one lonely couple in the corner eating a meal, and a gentleman of a bartender, a black guy with a shiny bald head who i had learned played a small part in the original "le cage aux folles" and had proof of it with a black and white photo of himself in the movie at a much younger age decked out in the most flamboyant of costumes, he looked like a rockette. the photo hung there in the room as a tribute to it's famous barkeep. Eli's friend appeared and she seemed sad, understandably so as the room was empty and no crowd but us five had come to see her perform. they talked for a few minutes and i heard him again talking in ways that put her sweet little heart at ease. Eli was an artist of words and most likely a lover of many woman.
she eventually took the stage, winked at the bartender as he turned the music on and began her show. i can't say i remember much of it, i'd say she sang a song or two, nothing quite remarkable except when she put on a belt lined with a multitude of castanet like wood pieces, and she shook her hips with great intensity and her curves became electric and all of us five came alive with her rhythm and sexuality. it was a good show!
i saw Eli a few times after that in passing. months later actually and he said he was wondering what happened to me and that he wanted to turn my story of running from those hustlers into a painting and that i looked like a guy from an Edward Hopper painting which was true at the time because my hair style was quite awkwardly parted to the side like a 1940's banker.
i always wondered what happened to that man. i never got his last name. it made me happy to know that people like Eli exist, the ones that are chasing their dreams, living it, breaking all convention, toughing the poverty to realize their own passion without compromise.
one day last week, while eating lunch, i was watching a show about traveling on television. it was a whole hour devoted to the great city of Paris which made me feel sentimental and had me searching the backgrounds for familiar spots that maybe i had crossed. the host visited many different places within the city and at each one interviewed a local expert. towards the end of the show she visited the Louvre and talked about it's enormity and how it often intimidates your everyday tourist. suddenly, standing there, in the middle of the towering sculptures spread apart inside a palatial room, was my man, Eli, ten years later, and the narrator confirmed it as she introduced him. true to form, Eli, looking a bit cleaned up for the camera, described his favorite sculpture there, as it towered them and i remembered the distinctness of his voice. then they visited the Mona Lisa and describing it he said "many believe that that is Da Vinci himself dressed up as a woman" and the interviewer laughed off the absurdity of it in a subtle way and Eli responded "he was way ahead of his time" and then he was gone...just those few seconds of air time.
it's good to know that he is still there doing what he does.
"ironing boards"
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