Drawing Linda Part Two
Continuing my diary of a sitting with Linda Evangelista
Sunday March 7th, 2004
Get up early, worrying about the day ahead. Order breakfast but don’t eat it, double check I have everything I need; pens paper charcoal, and then set off for the George V. The flowers in the lobby are extraordinary, towers of purple orchids and lime green viburnum, some hanging upside down, apparently without water, I’m certain I can hear them weeping.
Didier lets me into the suite, which is rambling, luxurious and oddly corporate but for the floral arrangements that decorate every surface (all with notes I cannot read), and scented candles doing their thing. No sign of LE. Minutes later, the stylist, Daniela arrives to check over rails of clothes. At the same moment, Linda appears from nowhere. She is tall, her hair is dark and scraped back, she’s without makeup. “I'm honoured,” she says in a lilting voice, extending her hand. “You’re in the Comme des..” she adds, acknowledging my new suit. “Do you have the picture on your shirt?” I show her and confess to having bought everything the day before (what do you wear to draw Royalty?) After pleasantries Daniela and Didier leave and we are alone.
Linda moves to the window and picks up a hand mirror. “You want Linda? she asks, laying out her makeup on the table. “I'm very comfortable with eyeliner,” she adds applying it with a single, vertiginous swoop. Unhurried and unselfconscious she concentrates on the matter at hand (becoming Linda) until the effect pleases her. She is ravishing.
Linda surveys the clothes and picks a short sea green dress from Lanvin. Studying it in the mirror, she works out how best to pose it, editing herself for the page. I work on large sheets of paper in charcoal initially, scattering the drawings on the floor. Linda steals a look and seems pleased. She pays me the compliment of taking things seriously, refusing to countenance being interviewed at the same time (“We’re working!”) and ignoring the constant bleeping of her phone.
Philip arrives with Deborah Milner and a box the size of a chest freezer containing three hats and the paper roll we have been using for sittings in London. Linda accesses the hats, “Won't my head look awfully small in a picture if I wear that?” editing again. The other two, she loves. “I'm seeing height,” she declares. We have now been joined by Didier and a guy from French TV, who is making a documentary about her. Linda scans the room and decides to perch on a Bureau. Philip, Deborah and Didier, move flowers and lamps and tape the paper roll over a gilt framed picture hanging above it. The TV guy films.
By the end of the afternoon, I have dozens of drawings. Some of them good and am feeling elated and exhausted. Philip, Deborah and I tip into the lift in a daze. Philip tells me that my sitting this evening with Grace Jones won’t now be happening. I am disappointed and relieved; I don’t have another drawing in me. Instead, I opt to meet Erin and Jamie (Theakston, her boyfriend) and hopefully Jade in The Highlander
The Highlander, is an all night Scottish theme pub on the Left Bank opposite the Pont Neuf. Erin and Jade love to hide away there, decompressing from fashion. They play a mean game of darts. I walk in to be greeted by Erin, looking spectacular, and get a hug from ‘Jimmy the half pint’ the owner, who appears to sleep under the bar. Its Quiz Night and our team, Jimmy, Jamie, Erin, Jade and me, is killer. I'm quickly getting drunk on red wine which I think is corked and sambucas that I am not ordering. We win convincingly after a great moment when a question about what Peter Jackson's next film will be, comes up .”I know that,” says Jamie, “I auditioned for it last week, it's King Kong.” Slam dunk. At 1:00 o'clock, early by Highlanders standards, I go home, shattered.
If you missed Drawing Linda Part One you can read it here
Another great description, DD. Most people do not realize just how exhausting a day of drawing or painting is. You definitely should publish all these articles together in book form one of these days...
Your pencil writes art.