Dulwich Delight
"Art gallery owner Vivienne spots talent in struggling painter Ray's work—and in Ray himself, showing him that patronage in Dulwich is very hands-on."
Ray's paintings weren't selling. His landlord was threatening eviction. Then Vivienne walked into his studio.
Thick and glamorous, draped in silk and confidence, she studied his work while he studied her.
"These are extraordinary," she said. "Why isn't anyone buying?"
"No one sees them."
"Then we fix that."
Her gallery in Dulwich was prestigious. Too prestigious for a struggling artist.
"Yuh work deserves this," she insisted. "And I know what I see."
"What do you see?"
"Passion. Raw, unfiltered passion." She moved closer. "Is that what yuh are? Passionate?"
"When inspired."
"Then let mi inspire yuh."
She posed for him that night. Just for him. That thick body draped across his studio couch like a painting already.
"Capture mi," she commanded. "Every curve."
He captured her with brush, then with hands, then with everything.
The painting didn't get finished that night. Too busy learning her body's landscape. Too busy hearing her moan.
"Yes! Ray! Right there!"
She was his canvas now, pleasure his medium.
"Don't stop! Paint mi with yuh body!"
The exhibition was a sensation. Every piece sold. Ray's name entered the art world like lightning.
But the portrait of Vivienne stays private. Hangs in their bedroom.
"Yuh masterpiece," she says.
"You're the masterpiece. I'm just the documenter."
Dulwich galleries now compete for his work. Critics celebrate his breakthrough.
No one knows the real story.
Just them. Just the studio. Just the ongoing collaboration between artist and muse.
Delighted.
Forever.