Mark

04-27-2013, Sunday

Love Park, Philadelphia

“Hi Mark! Shell we do another painting? I wont you to look my way this time.” “Shure.” “Can you sit here for a better light?” “Shure.” I worked silently, and then asked, “Did you see your son?” “I haven’t seen him for a year.” “Is he all right?” “Last time I saw him he was.” “What is he doing?” “A year ago he was seeing a probation officer, and what he is doing for living I don’t know.” He squeezed a flee between his fingernails.  I noticed that he was watching me. It was strange, because he was as cool as he could be as I was examining him intensively in the way of a painter. Only now and then he would glance at me clearly trying to figure me out. “Thank you, Mark. Today parking was free, so I can buy you a hamburger. Let’s go to McDonald’s at the corner.” As we went, I noticed Joe on the steps. “Hi, Joe!” “I am a different man,” he said smiling. At McDonald’s Mark ordered modestly. It only cost me $2.65. “Thank you for being modest,” I said. “Are you going to order for yourself?” He asked. “No, I will go.” On my way back I stopped to talk to Joe. “How are you doing?” “I don’t want any paintings.” “Why?” “I have a different face… it is not my face… all criminal charges against me are false… it is not my face…” “What are you saying, Joe? It is your face.” “No. My face is skin and bones… I have cellophane face… all charges against me are false… I don’t want pictures or photos…” His voice was harsh, and his speech was inarticulate. This was the best I could decipher…  

Donald

04-26-13

Love Park, Philadelphia

I was down on my luck parking. Voices shouting through megaphones about accepting Jesus were echoing through the streets. They were originating at the park, and made me reluctant to go there. There was a black-cloaked woman sleeping in the sculpture garden across the street from the park, but it felt awkward to wake her up. Another woman said that she wants no pictures. I circled the park and saw one more reclining figure on the bench. His eyes were open when I passed by, so I introduced myself. His name was Donald. He agreed to be painted, said no for a sandwich and didn’t change his position leaving it to me to figure out where to sit. I set myself right on the pavement near him. He opened his eyes, smiled and closed them again. He was wearing fresh shirt and a blazer; silver rings decorating his neat hands. “Are you visiting here?” I started. “I live here.” “In town?” ”I am homeless.” “Since how long?” “Two months.” “What happened?” “I lost my job” “What were you doing?” “I was a painter,” he smiled, “ like you. Only I painted houses.” “Do you have family?” “Yes.” “Are they all right?” “Yes. I had to leave them in order for them to be all right.” He was calm and friendly, but preferred to keep his eyes closed. Someone stopped to take a picture of us and didn’t leave. In fact he leaned towards my ear and asked me what was my name. “Lena, “I said. “Do you study art, Lena?” “No.” “Are you self-taught?” I felt weary to explain how come I know painting, “Yes.” “When did you start doing it?” “You mean painting people on the streets?” “Yes.” “It’s my second week.” More people stopped by. “It’s good!” “She is self-taught!” “Good!” “She started painting only a week ago!” “Wow!” I didn’t look up. I was in a hurry. When I got up from my spot, Donald opened his eyes. I said, “Here, I have to go now.” “He looked at the painting. I can tell that considering the reaction of the crowd his expectations were not met. “It’s all right,” he said. “Would you accept my sandwich now? It’s homemade grilled chicken breast.” “I would accept your sandwich, baby,” he said. “Take care now. Maybe I’ll see you around.” “Is anybody helping you to find a job?” “No, I am doing it on my own.” “I will see you around. I will see you painting houses!” He laughed.     

Mark

04-25-2013, Thursday

Love Park, Philadelphia

I regretted leaving sweatshirt in the car, because it was still chilly. I hoped to find Marge on her corner, but se wasn’t there. Was it her way of saying that she doesn’t want to do another portrait?  Looking for someone who would agree to pose I walked through the park watching occupants of the benches through the corner of my eye. They were busy talking on cellphones or opening snacks, except for one bearded man in the sock hat. I introduced myself and asked permission to paint his portrait. He nodded,  “Mark,” and shook my hand. He was happy to have a sandwich. I shivered. “It will worm up soon,” he said. I worked silently for a while before asking, “Are you often here?” “Always sit here. What else to do?” “Were do you live?” “Homeless shelter on Broadway.” “I heard that people steal there.” “They do.” He turned his face toward me, and I had to wait, because I was doing his profile. “How long have you been living like that?” “Three years at the shelter. “ “Is this how long you have been homeless?” “I have been homeless for six years.” “What happened?” “I am broke.” “Was it hard to get used to?” He nodded. “It’s still hard.” “What were you doing before?” “I was in prison for nine years.” “What for?” “For raping a woman I have never laid my eyes on.” I looked at him inquisitively. “I was married and we had a son. I had a printing business; later I worked in construction. I wanted to raise my son. One day they brought me to police and said that I am a rape suspect. The woman described the rapist as a stout man, and I am six four, skinny. But they were showing her my photograph along with five other guys. They changed other four every time but always kept mine. My face started looking familiar to her. Finally she said she recognized me. It took her five times! When genetic test got available, it showed that I never touched her, but she had traces of having sex with three other guys.” He paused, and I continued painting. “Hey, Mark, how you doing man? Look at you, man! Looks good, man! ” I looked up and saw two smiling faces. “That’s good what you are doing, miss! Looks like him!” “My buddies,” said Mark. “You have friends?”  “I do.” “Mark, I finished and have to go. You say you are always here. I don’t have money, but is there anything else you want I can bring to you?” “I love hamburgers.” ”Ok, I’ll see you around.”  “Ok, thank you.”

               

Joe

04-22-2013, Monday

Love Park, Philadelphia

            Marge was sitting on her spot again. I said, “Should we do another portrait?” “I don’t know…” “Do you want to see how I finished your portrait, yesterday?” “Yes! Hey, come here, take a look!” She called someone from across the street, but no one appeared. She was pleased with the portrait. “So, maybe just half an hour? Would you like a sandwich?” ”No, I don’t need your sandwich. What kind of sandwich you have?” “The same as yesterday. Are you going to bargain with me?” “No, I am not going to bargain with you. I’ll tell you what. My case manager is going to see me soon. Are you coming tomorrow?” “No. On Thursday.” “At what time?” “Nine thirty, ten…” “I will sit for you on Thursday. That’s decided!”  “All right, Marge, see you then.”

Park was rather empty. Two idle ladies with suitcases were sitting there on the bench. They weren’t interested in me painting their portraits. They, too, thought that I would charge them.

I spotted Joe sitting on the steps around the corner. “Hello, sir!” “Hi,” he smiled right away. “I am an artist. May I paint your portrait?” “Now?” “Yes. Hear.” “I am an anxious one, I cannot sit still, I have to walk. Burn calories.” He laughed. “You don’t have to be still. Just let me sit here next to you and paint your portrait. Do you want a sandwich?” “No, thank you, I don’t want a sandwich. I cannot sit here, I have to move.” “Maybe you will sit a little; I won’t take long. Thirty minutes. I really want to pain you. Just try.” “Ok, I’ll try.”   He had blue eyes and handsome aged face, weathered and tanned. He watched with interest the fast progress of the painting. Half way, I said, “Joe, you are doing great!” He smiled. A man passed by and asked permission to take our picture. Joe was impressed with attention. I finished and thanked him again. He said, “It was not difficult!” “You did very well. Will I see you around?” “Yes, around the city. I walk around. Burn calories,” he joked again. “Maybe you would take a sandwich?” “Yes, I will.”  “Two?” “No, one is enough.” “See you around, Joe.” “Take care.”

Marge

04-21-2013, Sunday

 Love Park, Philadelphia

When I got out of my car, I noticed a very old man dressed in pajama pants and dirty coat. He was walking with some difficulty clenching soda can with both hands. He asked, “What’s the matter? You know me?” I sad, “No.” “I am Bob.” “Very nice to meet you, Bob.” “Name?” “Lena. Would you pose for a portrait? I am an artist…” Bob didn’t quite understand that I was going to paint him. “Where is your camera?” I showed him paint and brushes, “It will take about 40 minutes…” “How much?” “I don’t have money.” “How much you charge me?” “Nothing.” He hesitated. “Maybe not today. I have an appointment… They give out soda there. Take care. Be careful. See you around.”

Marge was sitting on the stone parapet, facing busy street and City Hall.  She saw me there yesterday and was not surprise when I asked her to pose. She didn’t mind a sandwich. As I was setting up, a young man dressed in white shirt and black suit and tie greeted Marge and hugged her. He said that he remembers her in his prayers. When he left, Marge explained to me that she sometimes goes to church. That’s all I know about Marge so far; we weren’t doing background check. When I finished painting, Marge was shy about another sandwich, but agreed to take it for later.

Tyrone

04-20-2013, Saturday

Love Park, Philadelphia

Tyrone was the first person I noticed in the park, who looked like he might agree to my proposition. He was sitting on the stone parapet, and met my eyes as I approached. He listened carefully as I explained to him that I am an artist, who likes painting portraits, and I am asking him for a favor to pose for me right there for about an hour. He nodded his head, like it was nothing new to him. I said that I am grateful that he agreed, and he smiled with very open and calm smile. I offered him a sandwich. He nodded. I told him that I have to make a sandwich right now and suggested to use his palm as a plate. He stretched out his palm.  As we were working other people approached us. First, young people who were running some fundraising event offered us to buy their boxed lunch. We declined. Then the skateboard riders made a photo of us. They liked the portrait. Another guy stopped by to admire my work. He told Tyrone that my portrait looks exactly like him accept for the neater haircut. They both laughed toothlessly. I suggested that I make his portrait, too, but he said that nobody wants to see his ugly face. When I cleaned up I offered Tyrone another sandwich, but he declined. I said that I should eat as little as he does; he smiled. He asked me if I had a family, and told me that his children are all right and live in Northeast, Philly, the youngest being sixteen. He called himself a widower. He lives on the streets since five years ago, doesn’t like to go to shelters, because people steal there, and he doesn’t have friends.