Twin Souls. Raimon Samsó

      Chapter Three

      I Met Jodie Wright on a Tuesday in March. Even now, after all these years, if they ask me how she was, it would be difficult for me to answer that question. Without a doubt, she was a woman that shined in every sense. Someone who can point and discover things in your life that are - simple, important, yours - which haven’t caught your attention before.

      I remember her aspect: radiant. She drew attention towards her: slim, thirty something, incredibly attractive. She contemplated a painting in the small gallery in Santa. Monica. The Donna Marie Gallery, on Third Avenue. Tanned, Honey colored eyes, perfect lips. She dressed casually, a pair of worn out jeans, White t-shirt and a green jersey knotted at the neck. She admired the frame with a sense of detachment as if she was looking through a window. Her eyes seemed to maintain a deep conversation with the work in a way that silence seemed obligatory.

      After I began my second tour of the gallery, having taken a quick and very general look the first time, I went to stand next to her. The painting that caught her attention was an impressionist landscape depicting a dive jump on a lake surrounded by plant foliage.

      Jodie watched the painting and I watched her. After a little while, our eyes crossed, once, twice. Even though I could see in her eyes an air of disapproval for having interrupted her state of suspension towards the frame, I told her:

      - The colors of the water seem right, but its missing depth, everything on it seems on the surface. Don’t you think?

      I didn’t get an answer, not in that moment. Only half a look and half a smile for courtesy. She was only trying to be nice. So we continued contemplating the work while I backed off in silence. Over a certain level of quality, it is difficult to talk about good or bad jobs. A painting either get’s there or it doesn’t. It’s that simple.

      And it seemed it captivated her, not any other, but that landscape in particular. A second later, without expecting it, and just as I was leaving, she turned around and said:

      - I once dreamt this landscape, but when I saw this painting I understood the shortage of refinements in my imagination. Have you ever been to a place where you had been in your mind?

      I understood indeed. In my job, it used to happen: first I imagine it, and then I put it into the paintings. I nodded and answered the question:

      - I know what you mean. It´s like discovering, all of a sudden, that people share the same ideas but they express them in different ways. We all know everything even though we might have forgotten it. And the mystery of those coincidences amazes us and leaves us perplexed.

      - Yes, that’s true.

      - Do you like the painting? – I asked.

      -Yes. And for a very special reason.

      -And can that reason be known?

      We talked without taking our eyes off the painting, like two strangers, until she turned and shook my hand:

      -My name is Jodie Wright –she introduced herself with a smile.

      -Victor Bruguera. Nice to meet you.

      We shook hands. The ice had melted. Almost.

      After the presentation I remember we talked about the painting. I asked her if she painted. She laughed openly: “No I don’t paint, Do you paint?” She asked curiously. Her smile could affect anybody.

      - Yes and no – I responded timidly since I concluded that people tended to overate my profession.

      -So, Do you make a living out of it? –she asked.

      -Let’s just say that I make ends meet –I lied.

      -And that accent, it’s from…

      -Spain.

      She nodded. We continued our tour of the gallery. From each of the paintings she seemed to extract and enormous amount of information. Not from their subject matter, but from what could have moved the author the paint it.

      She told me that art and creativity comforted her and gave her infinite longing in its absence. «Do you know what I mean? », she asked.

      I wasn’t sure I understood, but I listened to her with interest. Feeling admiration for someone can be very special. And she was the kind of person that awoke admiration pretty fast, as fast as lit gunpowder fuse.

      Some women I met before only came and went. Some of my old partners cured my loneliness, but I cannot say they gave me real company. Not at least the kind of Quality Company that turns into complicity. Clara, my wife, was the exception. After her death, I became uninterested with meeting other women and when it got intimate, it was only to shake the feeling of loneliness at least for a while. And then, of course, nothing beautiful came from it, since our bodies joined, but not our souls. I believe that a couple can keep their bodies together, but their souls in an unsalable distance: Which means, a commitment without a commitment. I am talking about a different kind of relationship, one agreed upon even before birth. Twin souls? I think those are two words that define a valuable encounter. I’m talking about a gathering of two beings whose interaction is developed infinitely

      -… So, do you visit galleries often? –I asked.

      -Every now and then. Not only in art galleries creation manifests itself. I can also feel it when I take care of plants, when someone offers a smile, or when I lay in the grass. For me, creation is life in action. And life happens all around us. Don’t you think?

      She described it just as I felt it, even though I had never heard anyone express it in that way. A little while later we were on the street surrounded by people that came and went and I didn’t wish that our conversation would end.

      -Jodie, can I invite you to some coffee? Would you accept?

      -I can’t right now, Victor. I’m late for something, they are waiting for me. But I come to this gallery often…

      -You haven’t even told me why that painting interests you so much –I tried to make her stay.

      - Oh! That’s a long story. Maybe next time…

      -The short version would do. Can’t you at least do that?

      She was leaving.

      -On Tuesday’s.

      « Which ones? All of them? », I wanted to know.

      -Lucky me, there’s only four or five of them a month. Great. So, will we see each other again? - I asked while she moved away into the crowd around us.

      -Yes, yes –she waved goodbye with her hand.

      She left without me being able to stop her, without the net I was throwing being able to catch her. She was in hurry, she excused herself. I saw her turn while she got lost in the crowd to offer me a consolation smile just before she turned the corner. Once again, her warmth invaded me. It’s something I cannot describe since I’m a painter and not very good with words. But I know she captivated me. In that precise moment, I knew for sure that I would again see Jodie.

      And that certainty surprised and rattled me. How could Jodie, unlike anyone interest me?

      I walked to my apartment, kicking these thoughts around and even others more vacuous, as if they were empty beer cans. My ideas rolled and rolled as if they had put my mind in a washing machine.

      Once in my study, I turned my laptop on and sent Javier and e-mail: «Here I am, all set up, absorbing the city. Your neighbors, very friendly. Everything is perfect, nothing new to report. I’ll take care of your plants; maybe I’ll pick up the brush…».

      On the inbox there was another one for me. It was a very particular message which gave me a lot to think about in at that precise moment: