Street artist for one night

I haven't sketched anything for a long time.

The last time I thought I might want to draw something, I was sitting in a meeting with a bunch of military personnel getting a five-day forecast from a meteorological officer. I kept drifting off to sleep and, in this state of half-dreaming, I thought I might want to paint a picture: a cat wearing flight goggles and a specially-made harness which was attached to helium balloons allowing the cat to fly. So that's been the extent of my creative impulse: a flying cat. Oh, and there were sunflowers.

I guess you had to be there.

But I bought a sketch pad anyway and I walked down to Via Napoli to see what things might hold still long enough for me to draw them. 

I sketched a sixteen-year-old girl snogging her boyfriend (actually, I ended up by mostly sketching her backside - her bum tucked into a pair of incredibly short shorts that kept revealing the crease where the gluteus maximus meets the hamstring.)

Later, at a restaurant, where I sipped wine and ate heavenly Pozzuoli bread, I sketched the shoulder muscle and flabby tricep of a smoker. Then,a nice couple with a six-month-old baby sat nearby. When the woman sat off to one side and started feeding the baby from a bottle, I decided to try my hand at the subject which every artist from Giotto to Da Vinci can't help but get very wrong: an infant.

I worked quickly: the bottle wouldn't last long.  Eventually, I had some semblance of the child: his chubby arms and legs splayed out and her strong hands manipulating his little body.

I flipped the sketch pad around to try something else. But the movement caught the father's eye and he saw what I had done.

He went ecstatic. He came to the table and oohed and ahhed over the pencil sketch. I gave him the page and he marched it around the restaurant, showing everyone. I was embarrassed, but pleased. I thought, "hey. This is a nice and rewarding moment. Someone appreciates my work."

But the moment wasn't going to last. Next thing I knew, the page was shoved under my nose and the father was saying, "Please, the face."

I knew what he meant: I'd sketched their son with the bottle covering most of his face. He wanted the rest.

Oops.

I took out a fresh sheet of paper and, while the mother abandoned her food to prop up the boy as my model, I began to madly sketch. 

It was awful. I don't have the tricks used by street artists. I imagine that they use special techniques to rapidly fill in the important bits. I wished desperately that I knew what they were.

I drew a circle. The kid was squirming around - attention caught here and there. How was I supposed to do this? The mother was looking intently at me. Smiling. She'd left her food on the table and her husband walked over occasionally to deliver single bites on a fork.

I tried to fill in the features - but people came to stand behind me and see my work and this made things even worse. Every attempt I made - made the kid look like a bobble-headed troll. I was sweating by now. I considered telling them that I couldn't do it. But everyone looked so damn hopeful!

After the third try, I landed on something that looked like a human being. It was rough...but I made it do. Little smile on the face; fat little cheeks; eyes distracted in a sideways glance. When I thought it was passable, I took it to them so that the mom could eat. I didn't wait to see if they liked it. I couldn't do any better.

But as the next course came to the table, the father brought the baby to mine.

He told me his name (Antonio) and the cherub's name: "Francesco".

I held Francesco, snuggled against me the sweet milky baby smell, and he took my fingers and tried to put them in his mouth.  I tried not to think the sad thoughts I always have around babies, tried to quell the longing, and I just enjoyed this one. He was all rolly polly and wobbly. It was beautiful.

Antonio insisted on buying me a slice of cake and a shot of Limoncello. And we said goodbye.