by Kara Bryn
I looked down at my phone. "It's after two now," I told her.
Mia suddenly stood up. Most of the heads in the café turned around to look at her. She held out her slender hand.
"It has been very nice to meet you," she said as I took her fingers in mine, "And I hope your article goes well."
"But, wait!" I said, "I've hardly got anything… I mean, can I see your studio? Or some more of your work?"
"Is one piece of work not enough?" she asked with a smile. I still had trouble wrapping my head around the idea that lunch with a nude woman counted as performance art. Indecent exposure perhaps, but not art.
"Well, I… I still have plenty of questions. About your work, about your life."
She waved a dismissive hand at me. "My life is important only through my work." Then she paused for a second. "Okay. Tomorrow. Eleven o'clock in the morning. Come to my studio." She took the notepad from me and wrote an address. "I will help you to understand more."
"Eleven o'clock. I'll be there," I said with a smile.
Mia leant forwards and we exchanged kisses on each cheek. All I could think was "I'm kissing a naked woman on the cheek". She picked up her coat and slipped back into it, fastening the three large buttons. I felt relief at last.
"You prefer this, huh?" she asked. I nodded and then shrugged.
"It's what you're used to, I suppose," I said.
"I have never performed in England before. I think it might be interesting." I was sure it definitely would be interesting. "I have barely explored weather in my work, and your English weather is quite notorious… Still, until tomorrow." The thin hand waved and Mia left the café, to outwards appearances just an attractive woman in a large coat.
At eleven o'clock the next morning I pressed the buzzer for Mia's apartment.
"Hola?" came the voice.
"Mia?" I asked, "It's Rosie."
There was a buzz and a click and I pushed the door open.
The building was exactly the kind that I'd expect to find an artist in: tall ceilings, flaking paintwork, tired woodwork and lots of natural lighting. The small, deserted lobby contained a couple of metal framed chairs and I decided the old mechanical lift was more effort walking up.
I made my way up to the second floor and saw a door ajar for me. I tapped on it with a knuckle and pushed it open.
"Come in," I heard Mia call from across the room.
Inside was a mixture of living and work space. Mia was wearing a set of old dungarees covered in splashes of paint and it looked as if she had been working. There was a canvas propped on an easel; it was an abstract and, although I couldn't discern the subject, it had an intensely sensual feel to it.
"You paint still?" I asked her.
"Yes," she said, "Although I rarely show them. Maybe one day…" She tailed off. I wondered if she longed to be respected for works that didn't involve her body, but I was unlikely to get that answer from her and I wasn't brave enough to ask yet.
I looked around at the paintings, drawings and photographs that were propped up against almost every vertical surface.
"I remember that photograph," I said, pointing at an image of Mia sitting, in underwear for a change, in the middle of a crowded café.
She smiled. "That was an early work. I wasn't so brave, or… no, it wasn't that I wasn't brave, but I hadn't learnt that I didn't need to be." She paused to think. "And, I found that I couldn't get the answers I wanted that way."
I wondered who this artwork was for: the viewer or the artist? Was I, were we, witnessing a kind of therapy?
"How could you not get what you wanted?" I asked.
Mia thought. "People are surrounded by images of women in underwear every day. On television, in magazines… it's almost a gimmick. If you want to sell something, then show a woman wearing very little. People assume that it's a stunt, that I'm promoting something… It made the next step easier, seeing that reaction first, but it was more difficult to be taken seriously."
I was confused. "People take you more seriously when you're nude than when you're partially dressed?" I asked, at least remembering to avoid the term "naked".
Mia shrugged. "The classical nude exists, as does the underwear model."
And the porn star, I thought. I still wasn't convinced you could remove the sexuality from Mia's performances.
"I realised it changed my perception of others, and the way I sensed the world," she continued, "It was part of the journey but it made me realise what a small step it was."
My expression was meant to show puzzlement, but Mia misread it. "You doubt me?" she said, "Come. Let me show you. Take a walk with me."
I swallowed nervously; I had wondered how long it would take for Mia the artist to transform into Mia the artwork.
Mia unhooked the straps of her dungarees and, within a second, she was out of them and standing in her white underwear. I tried not to act shocked. Mia stood with her hands on her hips.
"Do you not feel the world differently just by shedding one layer?" she asked me.
I thought. "Well, yes, but it's usually just for a minute while I'm choosing something to wear," I replied.
"That moment can be prolonged," she said, "It can last all day, if one wishes it. Take off your blouse and trousers and leave them on the back of that chair." She indicated the chair with her head.
This had taken a wholly unexpected turn.
"Look, it's alright for you," I said, "but if you think I'm going out there in my underwear…"
Mia smiled. "Don't worry," she said, "I want you to see, not to be seen." She walked over to a wardrobe and pulled out a long raincoat. "I will wear my coat and you can wear this." She walked over to me and I took the coat automatically. Mia went back to the wardrobe and took out the same faux fur coat she'd been wearing yesterday.
On the one hand, it seemed a crazy thing to do, to follow Mia. But the journalist in me could see the opportunity, an opportunity get a private insight into an artist's work. Plus, surprisingly, I could feel curiosity building within me. Which would be the greater pull: regretting I'd let myself be talked into this, or wishing I'd followed my instinct?
Trying to act as casually as possible, I unbuttoned my blouse, took it off and laid it over the back of the chair. It felt even stranger to remove my trousers, but Mia was already down to her underwear, so why should I be embarrassed? As I undressed she stood there, watching but not watching.
"Good," she said, and slipped into her coat. I realised that, so I didn't feel overly self-conscious, she'd been waiting until I was ready before she covered herself. I put the coat on, fastened the buttons as far up as they would go, and tied the belt around my waist.
"See?" Mia said, and pointed me towards a full length mirror. I looked at my reflection. "Now you can walk with a secret that only we know."
She walked towards the door and held it open. I left the apartment and started down the stairs.
Out on the street, I could instantly feel the change in the world. The air felt fresher and every sound was sharper and clearer. Mia stood beside me.
"Does the feeling go away?" I asked her, knowing she'd understand what I meant.
She smiled. "No, although it fades with time. Enjoy it while it lasts."
She started walking and I followed. I had no idea where I was going but I realised that, as Mia had done, I was looking at the eyes of everyone I came across. It was as if I was trying to get inside their heads, wondering if they could discern my secret. I wondered what years of living like this might do to a person.
I was struck by just how little attention we were getting. No more than any other pair of attractive women walking in Madrid, anyway.
"We have not changed the world by walking out like this," Mia said, "We have only changed ourselves, in a small way. But that is often the first step an artist takes." I half understood, although I didn't feel like I'd be starting a career as a nude artist any time soon.
Soon, we were walking through a leafy park. Mia led us over
to a bench away from the main path and shaded by a few trees. She looked around us and then, almost inevitably, she unfastened her coat, slipped her arms out of it and folded it across the bench. She sat down and I sat down next to her.
"You're afraid?" she asked. My eyes must have been the size of saucers as they darted around the park. "There's no one for a hundred metres, and in the shade we are virtually invisible."
I sat stiffly on the bench, eager to change the subject away from any idea of me removing my coat.
"Your photographer, Carlo," I began, "You must have a good relationship with him?"
Mia smiled, guessing at the undercurrent in my question. "Yes, I do. We work well together, and he understands what I'm trying to do," she said, not giving anything away.
"And how do you find friends react to what you do?"
Another smile. "It depends," she said, "It's one way to find out who a friend is. A lot of people want to be friends, but their motives are obvious."
I felt incredibly uncomfortable, perched on the wooden bench whilst Mia sat, relaxed in her white knickers and bra, leaning back against the slats. A breeze made the leaves rustle and I saw Mia close her eyes a fraction to enjoy the sensation of the cool air across her skin. She opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled. I knew exactly what that smile meant.
"Okay, you win," I said and, half standing, I unbuttoned the coat, unfastened the belt, took it off and lay it carefully on the bench next to me, ready to grab it if anybody came near.
Mia smiled that smile of hers again. "Now you can relax and enjoy." She closed her eyes for a few seconds. I leant back against the bench and looked around. Mia was right: no-one was close enough to pay us any attention, and I relaxed a little. I was sitting in a park in Madrid in my underwear, and nothing bad had happened.
When Mia opened her eyes I returned to my questioning. "Artists have often worked with nudes," I said, "So, why don't you hire a model rather than doing all this yourself?"
She seemed to welcome the question. "Partly, honestly, it's money. How much is it going to cost to hire a model for days on end, with no idea of whether anything of worth will come out of it? And then, once I started, I realised the insight I had I couldn't gain any other way. I had to experience the art as well as creating it."
"And your compositions," I continued, "There are other artists that work with nude individuals and groups. But in your pieces, there's only ever one nude: you."
It seemed another topic Mia was prepared for. "We are doing very different things and, in my work, I think the juxtaposition is much sharper if there is only a single nude. I think many nudes can be very visually appealing, but a single nude poses more questions; it forces the viewer to interact with the representation of an individual."
Hearing a noise, I looked around. An elderly man was barely twenty feet away from us along the path. I started to reach for the raincoat, and then realised the futility of it. He smiled as he came alongside us, waved his hand and said something in Spanish. Mia replied with a grin and tilted her head towards me. His eyes followed her direction and we exchanged a smile. I looked at her, wanting to know what had happened.
"He said the park looks more beautiful than usual today," she told me, "I said how much I enjoyed it during blossoming." Her eyes bore into me again and the double meaning of her statement wasn't lost on me.
We sat for a few more minutes. A cyclist passed us and, again, by the time I could have covered myself back up it was too late to bother. Again, he looked at us and smiled as he went by, but the exchange was entirely without drama.
Mia stood and put her coat on. "Come," she said, "We should get something to eat."
I wasn't going to refuse since, not only was I hungry, but it was a rare privilege to be given so much time by any artist, and especially one with such a fractious relationship with the press.
Again, I made sure the raincoat was buttoned and belted fast around me. Mia watched as I did so. "You wear that coat well," she said. I wasn't sure how to take the compliment. I felt like I was mere background scenery beside Mia's opulent faux fur.
We walked back towards the centre of the city.
"Tell me," she said, "Do you think anyone has suspected, so far, that you are wearing only underwear beneath that coat."
I shook my head. "I don't think so. I mean, who would assume that?"
She smiled. Again, I was being led along a line of questioning. "And no-one has even seen a hint of white lace underwear?"
I shook my head again: I didn't believe so. I had wrapped the coat so tightly around myself.
"Why, then," she continued, "Why do you need it? Your underwear? If no-one can see them, what are they covering?"
I blushed at the thought. I knew what she meant, but it seemed a world apart from what we had done.
"I know it doesn't make sense," I said, "but I'd know and… I don't know. It would just be… scary."
"That doesn't make any sense," she agreed.
I was thankful that she didn't push this line of questioning any further. Instead, she just left me to dwell on the thought as we walked.
"It's like a safety net," I said after a few minutes, "I know I'm not going to need it, but I feel better knowing it's there."
"No," she replied, "Not a safety net. It's like stabilisers on a bicycle. And after a time you realise that you can ride without them. Then, you know what freedom feels like."
I wasn't convinced.
"And what about if you were without the raincoat?" she continued, "As we were a few minutes ago in the park? Have you not spent time on the beach and been just as covered as by your underwear?"
I shook the head since, actually, I usually choose the largest one-piece bikini I can find, and I wear something over the top if I'm not swimming. But I was saved the trouble of trying to think of a counter argument as we arrived at Mia's intended lunch venue.
"They know me here," she said as I followed her inside.
"Mia!" one of the waiters exclaimed on seeing her. They exchanged a few words, which included a notable look in my direction while something was explained, and then we were led over to a corner table.
The waiter spoke to Mia and it felt as if time slowed to a crawl as I watched her unbutton her coat and allow him to remove it from her shoulders. I looked around and, as usual, heads turned in Mia's direction as a woman in underwear appeared in their midst. She sat down, seemingly oblivious.
The waiter turned to me. "Madam? May I take your coat?" he asked in heavily accented English.
I looked around the room again. There were glances in Mia's direction and she was obviously the topic of conversation amongst some of the guests, but she wasn't even the centre of attention any more.
I shrugged and then, taking a deep breath, I untied the belt of the raincoat and unfastened the buttons. The waiter moved behind me and took the lapels and pulled it off my shoulders to fold over his arm. I sat down quickly, my eyes darting around the room. Again, some heads turned, but it seemed that a second woman in her underwear was no more notable than a first.
The waiter handed us a menu each. It was as if everything was normal, except for the spinning in my head.
I noticed a man walking over to us and was suddenly worried about unwelcome attention. Mia stood, waved, and they kissed each other on the cheek.
"Rosie," Mia said, "I would like you to meet Carlo, my photographer."
I stood and we shook hands. "Please to meet you, Rosie," he said, carefully looking me in the eye as he said so.
Carlo had thick, dark eyebrows, dark brown eyes and a wonderful, seductive accent and, standing there in my underwear, I have to admit I went more than a little dreamy.
"I hope you don't mind," Mia said, "But I invited Carlo to join us. He's such a big part of my work and I thought you would find it interesting."
Was I meant to find it interesting, or did Mia want to see how I would react to being semi-clad with a man around us? I never would be able to tell with Mia.
&
nbsp; Over lunch we talked about their travelling and how they worked together. I had always assumed that there must be something between photographer and artist, given the intimate nature of Mia's art and, although it was obvious they were very close, I couldn't detect anything that told me they were in a relationship.
"Oh, you must excuse me," Carlo suddenly said, " Margarita is expecting me home at 3pm." I raised an eyebrow.
"Sure! Sure!" Mia said, "Give my regards to her. And little José too."
"I will." Carlo stood and offered his hand again. I stood instinctively and shook it. "It was very nice to meet you, Rosie, and I'm glad to see another woman working so closely with Mia." His smile was sending me dreaming again, but it seemed that Margarita and little José might object to me taking too keen an interest. Still, I was jealous of the embrace that he shared with Mia before he left.
"I know Carlo," Mia said, "He will have paid the bill already. He cannot bear having a woman buying her own lunch. The machismo of Spain is so archaic sometimes, but it's hard to deny it also brings me pleasure."
We talked some more about Carlo, and about their relationship. I don't know if it was Mia's casualness, the glass of wine, or my becoming accustomed to being somewhat minimally dressed, but I was getting quite comfortable sitting in the restaurant and talking.
"Do you see what I mean?" Mia asked me, changing the subject.
"About what?" I asked.
"The reaction of people, to us sitting here like this. They look, but, once they've had their fill, they grow tired. When lingerie adverts fill the streets we're doing nothing special; there's nothing challenging about the human body in underwear."
I wasn't sure I thought it was that easy. It had been a challenge at the start, to take the first step, although it wasn't so hard now.
"But do you feel like an artist? Or a piece of art?" she continued, "No, not at all. We are decoration to cheer their lunch, to be dismissed as a gimmick."
She seemed very bitter about it. I was suddenly worried that she was going to go ditch her remaining clothing and, of even more concern, try to get me to do the same.
"Come," she said, "I need to prepare for my exhibition tomorrow." I breathed a sigh of relief as she stood. The waiter arrived with our coats and helped us back into them. I have to admit, I felt relieved to be protectively cocooned again.
