frodobaggins
FRODO'S JOURNAL - A day in the life of a Hobbit of the Shire. (Pre-Quest Years)
Artist In Residence
lord of the ringsTwo nights later, I found myself seated in Daffodil’s small studio, on what very soon felt like the tiniest, hardest stool I’d ever sat on. The fact that Daffodil had provided me with a cushion didn’t help matters much. I had long ago ceased to wonder about the image that was taking shape on the canvas. After two and a half hours of remaining stationary in the same position, on such a small surface, my posterior had gone thoroughly numb. And, my nose itched to distraction.
"Frodo, please stop squinching up your nose, it makes it terribly hard to sketch that part of your face."
"Sketch?" I asked. "I thought you were going to paint my portrait."
"I am, but I have to do a sketch first, then I’ll paint." Daffodil explained patiently.
"Oh." I said in reply. But, I was beginning to wish that I hadn’t agreed to pose as my cousin’s model. It seemed as if this was going to take more time than I had thought.
"Frodo…You’re squinching again!"
"Oh. Sorry."
"And don’t talk, either," Daffodil admonished. "unless it’s an absolute necessity."
"It’s a necessity." I stated. "My nose itches terribly and I’ve lost all feeling in my feet and legs."
Daffodil peeked at me over the top of the canvas. "All right. I suppose I should have given you a break, earlier. I apologize. I just got so engrossed in my work that I lost all track of time."
She may have, but I certainly hadn’t. For me, the time had crawled by at a snail’s pace. But I refrained from voicing this information.
"Why don’t we just call it a night?" Daffodil continued. "We can pick up next session."
I readily agreed. As I rose from the stool, stretching and shaking out my numb limbs, my curiosity returned, along with physical sensation.
"May I see what you have so far?" I enquired.
"Well…I don’t normally like for people, especially my subjects, to see my work until it’s finished."
"In that case, I suppose I shall have to wait." I conceded, as I prepared to take my leave. Thankfully my sleeping lower limbs were now fully awake and ready to take me home.
It so happened that Daffodil’s husband, Chesman arrived just as she was seeing me to the door.
"Ah Frodo," he said, "I see that my lovely wife has trapped you into sitting for her."
"Chesman Underfoot! That comment was totally necessary." Daffodil scolded.
"Well, I’d hardly say that I was trapped." I replied with a laugh.
"Oh...you’ll think differently after you’ve sat through a few more sessions." Chesman returned.
Daffodil gave her husband a playful slap on the arm. But, Chesman’s words would come back to haunt me the very next appointment. It took a total of three more tailbone paralysing sittings, before Daffodil had the portrait completed to her satisfaction. Two of these sessions took place yesterday. One before second breakfast, and the other supper. Daffodil painted as if she were working against a deadline. I tired several times to prevail upon her the fact that there was no hurry, at least not on my account.
At one point, when I was about to make another attempt to convince her to slow her pace, Chesman caught my eye and shaking his head, silently mouthed the word, "Obsessed."
So, there was nothing for it but to settle on the little stool, in the same stiff, motionless position, and resign myself to the fate of losing sensation in most of my body parts, as the hours stretched on endlessly.
At last she stopped, brush poised in midair, scrutinsing the canvas with a critical eye. Slowly, a satisfied smile began to spread across her face. She put the brush aside and wiped her hands.
"You may look now, Frodo." She announced.
Which I did. But first I had wrestle with the kinks in my neck and legs before I could move from the stool. When at last I stood before the portrait, taking in my first view, I was surprised, and rather pleasantly. What I saw reproduced with the blues, browns and flesh tones of the paint was not at all stiff or unnatural. It was almost as if I was staring at a reflection of myself in a looking glass. The image on the canvas depicted a young hobbit with a face of fair complexion, framed by a somewhat tousled thatch of dark curls. The blue eyes that stared back at me held a thoughtful, faraway look that I had never noticed before when actually looking into a mirror.
The portrait is now, and will remain for a time, on display in Cousin Daffodil’s gallery. But, whether or not it will boost her budding art trade remains to be seen.
"Frodo, please stop squinching up your nose, it makes it terribly hard to sketch that part of your face."
"Sketch?" I asked. "I thought you were going to paint my portrait."
"I am, but I have to do a sketch first, then I’ll paint." Daffodil explained patiently.
"Oh." I said in reply. But, I was beginning to wish that I hadn’t agreed to pose as my cousin’s model. It seemed as if this was going to take more time than I had thought.
"Frodo…You’re squinching again!"
"Oh. Sorry."
"And don’t talk, either," Daffodil admonished. "unless it’s an absolute necessity."
"It’s a necessity." I stated. "My nose itches terribly and I’ve lost all feeling in my feet and legs."
Daffodil peeked at me over the top of the canvas. "All right. I suppose I should have given you a break, earlier. I apologize. I just got so engrossed in my work that I lost all track of time."
She may have, but I certainly hadn’t. For me, the time had crawled by at a snail’s pace. But I refrained from voicing this information.
"Why don’t we just call it a night?" Daffodil continued. "We can pick up next session."
I readily agreed. As I rose from the stool, stretching and shaking out my numb limbs, my curiosity returned, along with physical sensation.
"May I see what you have so far?" I enquired.
"Well…I don’t normally like for people, especially my subjects, to see my work until it’s finished."
"In that case, I suppose I shall have to wait." I conceded, as I prepared to take my leave. Thankfully my sleeping lower limbs were now fully awake and ready to take me home.
It so happened that Daffodil’s husband, Chesman arrived just as she was seeing me to the door.
"Ah Frodo," he said, "I see that my lovely wife has trapped you into sitting for her."
"Chesman Underfoot! That comment was totally necessary." Daffodil scolded.
"Well, I’d hardly say that I was trapped." I replied with a laugh.
"Oh...you’ll think differently after you’ve sat through a few more sessions." Chesman returned.
Daffodil gave her husband a playful slap on the arm. But, Chesman’s words would come back to haunt me the very next appointment. It took a total of three more tailbone paralysing sittings, before Daffodil had the portrait completed to her satisfaction. Two of these sessions took place yesterday. One before second breakfast, and the other supper. Daffodil painted as if she were working against a deadline. I tired several times to prevail upon her the fact that there was no hurry, at least not on my account.
At one point, when I was about to make another attempt to convince her to slow her pace, Chesman caught my eye and shaking his head, silently mouthed the word, "Obsessed."
So, there was nothing for it but to settle on the little stool, in the same stiff, motionless position, and resign myself to the fate of losing sensation in most of my body parts, as the hours stretched on endlessly.
At last she stopped, brush poised in midair, scrutinsing the canvas with a critical eye. Slowly, a satisfied smile began to spread across her face. She put the brush aside and wiped her hands.
"You may look now, Frodo." She announced.
Which I did. But first I had wrestle with the kinks in my neck and legs before I could move from the stool. When at last I stood before the portrait, taking in my first view, I was surprised, and rather pleasantly. What I saw reproduced with the blues, browns and flesh tones of the paint was not at all stiff or unnatural. It was almost as if I was staring at a reflection of myself in a looking glass. The image on the canvas depicted a young hobbit with a face of fair complexion, framed by a somewhat tousled thatch of dark curls. The blue eyes that stared back at me held a thoughtful, faraway look that I had never noticed before when actually looking into a mirror.
The portrait is now, and will remain for a time, on display in Cousin Daffodil’s gallery. But, whether or not it will boost her budding art trade remains to be seen.
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