“My name is Jan, and I come from far away”

..And suddenly here he comes to break our walk after a hearty dinner, he comes to meet us and it looks like a French character borrowed from an old movie of Truffaut with his aristocratic appearance, big glasses, a basque artist-looking, and shoes dusty like who has come a long way on both sides of those pants with fringes and, before I could even formulate a brief thought, he introduced himself to me and my husband, saying, “My name is Jan, shall I take portrait? I Czech Republic” – revealing in two words generality, intentions and uncertain communicability. The responses received from this friendly stranger, in unison chorus, were a yes and a no, trying to reject his invitation with poor, little conviction, conviction that flown away from me when I’ve met his disappointed expression.

And suddenly we found ourselves to ask about the time needed to realize his portraits, a brief haggle on the price and then, went all through a corner lit adequately.

For my unusual role of model I’ve respected a silence, immobile, and motionless for about twenty minutes It’s what I’m unable to do even if into a TAC medical machine, meanwhile he use to breaks sometime his silence speaking in an English with some italian shade, about his love for our music, soccer of the Blue T-SHIRT italian players and Sicilian cuisine.

I pluck up courage and, in an awkward English, I’ve tried to know a little ‘more about that boy with long legs and the face of an angel that he is only 25 years, describing of his being in Italy since five months, playing the piano and a his passion for John Lennon and Italian wine, and all of this never stop smiling except when lifting the pencil from the paper to remind me to look him in the eyes.

Met and conquered by the art and the artist, at our request on the back of the drawing he wrote his telephone number and e-mail address, always in my broken but understandable English, I’ve wondered where he was using to sleep. He smiles at me. – “Under the sky” – “Yes!”, Worried only to recover and not forget sheets and pencils resting on that chair borrowed from the pizzeria for nothing scared from the uncertain accommodation on that night.

Seemed to be over there, we look each others with my husband, a tacit agreement and decide to take our daughter in our usual square, to meet her friends. Puzzled and confident the artist followed us. In few minutes, all around the two main characters form the crowd of extraordinary events with children and young people, curious to see a different mood from the usual behavior to be captured by pictures on mobile phones, other children sent by their parents ahead to inquire about price and expertise, someone skeptical with hands behind their back approaching and stretches his neck to try to peek at the work in progress of those hands that continue tireless as his eyes looking us for the sudden complicity or the desire to share with us the success of his mission in the square of a small village .

Time goes by, the noise behind us and the bars are closing, some lamp post on the waterfront turned off remind us that it’s late and the next day the work (doesn’t) wait for us. We go closer to leave him, vigorous handshake with my husband, kiss for me, knowing that will not meet each others maybe anymore, and more than that I wish him good luck knowing that he will need luck, like all those who live with art and for art, light and free as his shoulder bag which contained the few things needed to Jan, who came from far away and somehow remained here with us.

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