Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 280, "Little Petty"!
The next day, Lionel took Petit to Renoir's studio near Rue Saint-Georges.

Renoir is no longer the poor painter he once was; he has moved his studio from Montmartre to the 9th arrondissement, near the Paris Opera.

Upon hearing Lionel's purpose, Renoir looked at Petit, who stood beside Lionel, somewhat shy but with clear eyes, and was almost immediately moved.

Renoir circled Petit, rubbing his hands excitedly: "My God, Leon! Where did you find such a pearl!"
Look at those contours, the texture of that skin in the light… and those eyes! Pure, yet full of life! This is exactly what I've been searching for!

Without hesitation, he went to his desk, grabbed a pen, quickly wrote a note, and handed it to his assistant: "Send this to Mr. Andvip immediately."

Tell him I am very sorry, but I cannot accept the commission for his daughter Miss Eileen's portrait; let him find someone else!

Lionel was somewhat taken aback: "Andwip, that banker? Eileen? How old is she?"
Renoir scratched his head: "About 8 years old? Or 9? Whatever, I'm not painting anymore. I don't like her father's attitude."

Lionel gasped and advised, "Pierre, perhaps we could postpone Petty's portrait a little longer..."

Renoir waved his hand dismissively and said, "Don't mention that banker! All he wanted was a portrait that suited his vanity."

He wanted me to paint his daughter as a stiff porcelain doll. And your little Petty…”

He looked at the little girl again, his gaze intense: "She inspires me! Art is not about copying reality, but about capturing the brilliance of life!"
She radiates light, Leon, do you understand? A light that shines from the very soul! It would be worth turning down ten bankers' commissions to capture that light!

Petit blushed and felt flustered by Renoir's lavish praise, but inside he felt as sweet and warm as if he had drunk a sip of warm honey water.

Since Renoir valued it so much, Lionel also felt that the painting should be made even more perfect.

He took Petty to Printemps department store and, despite Petty's loud objections, insisted that the female shop assistants there choose a decent but not overly luxurious outfit and a few accessories for her.

When Petty changed into her new clothes and walked out of the fitting room, even passersby in the department store couldn't help but admire her.

The new clothes fit her perfectly and were appropriate, highlighting her gradually blossoming beautiful figure while retaining the innocence that should be present at her age.

Petty looked at herself in the mirror and could hardly recognize herself.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The day I painted was a crisp, sunny autumn afternoon.

Renoir Jean Petit sat in a chair by a window, with a backdrop of casually hanging deep red velvet that perfectly complemented her light-colored dress and delicate complexion.

The sunlight streaming in through the window cast a soft outline on her, making the strands of hair on her forehead appear almost transparent.

Renoir deftly mixed the paints while guiding Petit in a relaxed tone: "Good, very good! Just like that, relax, Petit..."

Imagine you're listening to Debussy play the piano, or thinking about how your bread is almost ready to come out of the oven...

Petty was initially a little nervous and stiff.

But Renoir was in no hurry. He first used charcoal sticks to quickly sketch the general outline on the canvas before picking up his brush and dipping it in rich paint.

His brush danced on the palette, making a light "tap-tap" sound, and then fell onto the canvas, making a "shush-shush" sound that was sometimes rapid and sometimes gentle.

Lionel sat on a sofa a little further away, watching the scene quietly.

He had previous experience having his portrait painted and knew that it was impossible to finish in one go; Petty would need at least three or four more sessions.

He was thinking about something else: if "Little Irene" became "Little Petty," would the painting still be as famous?

Lionel gazed at Petit, who, under Renoir's gentle guidance, gradually forgot the painter's gaze upon her. Her expression became natural and serene, and a faint smile unconsciously appeared on her lips.

Her usually clear eyes, reflecting the light from the window, appeared exceptionally bright, as if filled with silent anticipation for the future.

Lionel chuckled self-deprecatingly. What did it matter how much this "Little Petit" would be worth in the future? At least for now, it was priceless.

Renoir was also completely immersed in his creation, sometimes squinting to observe carefully, sometimes quickly stepping forward to add a few strokes to the canvas, and sometimes stepping back to examine the effect.

He would occasionally hum an off-key tune or mutter to himself in admiration: "Yes, that's the light!... This creamy color is simply wonderful... Look at the blue-purple hues in the shadows..."

The only sounds in the studio were the scratching of paintbrushes on canvas and the occasional distant sound of a horse-drawn carriage outside the window…

Time flowed slowly amidst the smells of turpentine and pigments.

After an unknown amount of time, Renoir finally let out a long sigh and put down his paintbrush and palette.

His face showed both fatigue and, more importantly, excitement: "That's enough for today. The first layer of color and the main relationships have been laid out, look!"

Lionel stepped forward—

On the canvas, the image is far from complete, with more of a foundation of color blocks and light and shadow; but Petit's charm, posture, and the warm atmosphere enveloped by soft light have already clearly emerged.

Especially those eyes; although the details haven't been depicted yet, they seem to have been infused with life.

Renoir said sincerely, "She's a perfect model, Léon. Patient, calm, and... she has a calming power."

I will complete this painting with great care. It may not be my grandest work, but it will certainly be one of my most sincere.

As I left the studio, the setting sun had already painted the Parisian sky a magnificent orange-red.

Although Petty had been sitting in one position for a long time and was somewhat tired, he was unusually excited.

She carefully held the new clothes she had changed out of, as if they were some priceless treasure.

She looked up at Lionel, her eyes sparkling with a light brighter than the setting sun: "Young Master, today... feels like a dream."

Lionel patted her head, feeling a surge of warmth in his heart.

He responded gently, “This is not a dream, Petty. This is just the beginning. You have a long way to go.”

------

While all of Europe eagerly awaited a duel between ladies, Dr. Norman McLeod, editor-in-chief of the magazine "Good Words," was yelling and shouting.

"Which bastard is it?!"

"This is blatant plunder!"

"Call the police! Call the police! Get Scotland Yard to arrest them!"

On his desk lay a small booklet with a simple, even somewhat crude, cover.

The booklet prominently displayed several large characters:
A Study in Scarlet

(End of this chapter)