Once upon a time I met an artist…

She was selling her art at a sex show when I first met her; she was quick to smile and start up a conversation and even shared the tattoo that circled her midriff. We talked about her realistic watercolours and she was enthusiastic to share her technique — her art ranged from the sublimely beautiful to the comical to the fringes of the obscene. She was adorable and her sensuality tugged at me to lean in and kiss her.

Her art interested me and was something I wanted to add to my humble collection. We parted company with her suggesting I follow her on Instagram where she posts the progression of her latest work.

Her work would show up in my feed occasionally, as well as photographs of her costumes and suggestions of polyamorous adventures. One of her pieces overwhelmed me and we arranged for me to buy it at her next showing — a woman in fishnet stockings peering over her shoulder.

I would see her at shows and ask her about her original works— I was now looking for two more pieces to complete my set but was in no rush because of the seduction of the art and the artist. Each time her sensuality would tug at me and when I saw her last, she mentioned something she was working on and that I may like it.

It was erotic, and to some, probably pornographic — as she mentioned, Instagram may not let her post it. I seriously thought of buying it but passed because I assumed there would be another.  

And then the pandemic locked us down.

She stopped posting art and eventually anything at all. Her commercial web site has now shut down and she seems to have disappeared. I admit selfishly I miss her art and the tug of her sensuality and hope she is well and still making beautiful art somewhere.