Ladies on Display

My inspiration was Les Demoiselles d'Avignon by Picasso, a revolutionary 1907 Cubist painting depicting five distorted female figures. It broke from tradition by portraying women as real rather than idealised.

In my story, three women’s lives intertwine with this artwork. I hope you enjoy it.

https://www.pablopicasso.org/avignon.jsp

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon is timidly displayed on the billboard across the street. Transients pass by, oblivious to its exquisiteness. Emily could make it out through the smoky bar where she and her bandmates were celebrating the success of their latest album. There is a Picasso exhibition at the National Theatre, the very same place where she played, a few hours ago. How come she didn’t notice?

"What a night!"; "Incredible! The audience was absolutely amazing…completely delightful!". John, the drummer, was over the moon. Kate the guitarist, was awesome. Peter the bassist, stoned, and Joahn the pianist was fascinating. As usual.

Another sold-out concert, another roaring applause. Is this happiness or not? She's what we might call a truly successful woman. Yes, she is! There's no doubt about it!

Emily couldn't tear her eyes away from the poster. Those fragmented faces, the distorted bodies, seem to transport her to a space that she could call her own. A place lost in her inner feelings. Without glancing back, Emily stood up and trudged slowly towards the street.

"Emily, where are you going ?", sounded like a whisper, she could hear her friends. But she couldn't turn back. That painting!

That night has been particularly difficult for Suzanne. Her headache was terrible. Each passing car lights acted like a storm in her brain. She should have brought her pills. Her eyes were burning.

Suzanne was on her usual spot, feeling the cold wall on her back, when her gaze fell upon a fancy lady crossing the street. Amidst the shadows, she noticed a disturbing poster, below which the lady was standing, mesmerised by it as if she were a part of picture. Naked women in masks with jagged bodies were depicted on it.

"How bizarre? How strange that she relates to it so", Suzanne couldn't take her eyes off it. The bunch of creased and deformed figures acted like an arrow going straight to her mind.

"Shut up! Who do you think you are?" His voice came like a shadow. "It’s none of her business!" her father used to yell at her mother every time Suzanne had the courage to speak out against his alcoholism. Suzanne didn't remember what he looked like, only the sound of his hand slapping her face.

Another car door opened. The next client was waiting. Suzanne jumped into the car, lit a cigarette, tossed her leather jacket to the back seat and adjusted her skirt. The car started up. In the rear-view mirror she could still make out the fancy lady beneath the neon glow of the billboard. That lady! That painting!

True to say that Carmen was really tired that night. But she had been the night before... and the night before that. Carmen’s lethargy had been with her for as long as she could remember. Since she fled her husband's violence and moved to the States with her three children. For how long must she have two jobs a day? She is still undocumented. She should marry the old man; it would be a quicker way to become legal.

The floor was dustier than usual, even the walls were filthy. Carmen heard that there had been a big concert in the auditorium. A famous rock star had launched her new album, and rumour had it, she was playing her last concert.

"Can you imagine a rock concert at the National theatre? The world is insane", the doorman exclaimed to her, as she arrived. Carmen had never been to a concert. But to be honest, it sounded great! For Carmen music and happiness were exactly the same. Music takes her back to her childhood; her big brother was a big rock fan.

“Dance, baby! Dance!”, he used to say, moving his body and playing an imaginary guitar. He is gone now.

“What does she look like, the superstar?”, Carmen pictured her as a successful woman, confident, with no doubts in life.

In the hallway, Carmen put down her broom, closed her eyes and imagined the lights and people applauding the rock singer. How she longs to be like her.

Behind Carmen, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon was observing as it acknowledged her. One of the painter’s muses. How fresh are the memories of the furious brushstrokes stabbing at the canvas, as if the full force of all women’s desires were at the end of the brush. That Lady! Those Ladies!