West Side Canvas: The Fairy of Poet’s Walk

Painting and essay by Robert Beck

I was in Central Park near the south end of Literary Walk — sometimes referred to as Poet’s Walk — when I came upon a young woman poser. She stood on a fabric-covered crate, dressed in a Victorian fairy costume, holding a plastic flower in her hand, still as a statue.  

I stopped and watched a mother step forward, guiding her child with both hands on his shoulders. The boy stared open-mouthed at the beautiful fairy towering in front of him. Mom stooped to whisper in his ear and handed him a dollar bill. He glanced at the bag at the fairy’s feet, then locked his gaze back on her face. Mom whispered again. He felt for the suitcase like a blind man, never diverting his eyes from the large eyelashes painted on her cheeks and the red lips on the powdered white face. As soon as the money dropped from his fingers, the fairy came to life. He froze. She bent forward in full, graceful animation, pinched a bit of glitter from her flower, and sprinkled a bit of dust in his palm. Then she smiled at him and returned to her pose, a statue again. The boy was transfixed. It was a formative moment; rich in romantic symbolism, beauty, magic, and karma. An inoculation-boosting immunity from realities that some day —  another day — will undoubtedly arise.

I put a bill in her bag and stood to receive my own bits of magic with a larger understanding than that of the boy. I appreciated the uplifting, positive persona she had chosen and how difficult it must be to stand perfectly still amidst all the distractions. I wondered about the real person wearing the wings, what brought her to this place, and what happens when the weather turns. Like the boy, the fairy enchanted me. She would be a good painting.

I didn’t want to cause her to break character, so I looked in another direction as I said, “I’m an artist and I want to do a painting of you, and I’ll pay you fifty dollars if you’ll be here tomorrow morning.” She swayed a little, gathered her pose, and barely moving her mouth said, “I have to come in all the way from Brooklyn.” I said I’d make it a hundred. We agreed on ten o’clock.

The next morning, I set up at the end of Poet’s Walk a little early, wondering if she would make the trip just because some stranger said he would pay her. There she was at ten, walking with the crowd; green dress, leather bag, and milk crate with wings sticking out. She was hungry and asked if she could eat her sandwich first. We chatted as she sat on the crate. Her name was Lisa, she was a puppeteer from New Orleans staying with friends in Brooklyn, and would be going back sometime soon. I noticed the frayed edges of her hand-painted wings and the scuffed shoes. Things the young boy never saw. 

Lisa was the best model I have ever painted.  A standing pose is the most difficult, and even though she occasionally needed to dispense her glitter, she always returned to the exact position. She took one break in two-and-a-half hours. A crowd gathered as I painted, and that was good for her business.  When I was done, she sprinkled a little of her glitter across the top of my painting. If you look at it just right, you can see it sparkle. I’m really pleased about that. It proves that she was a real fairy, and those are tough endorsements to get.

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See more of Robert Beck’s work and visit his UWS studio at www.robertbeck.net. Let him know if you have a connection to an archetypical UWS place or event that would make a good West Side Canvas subject. Thank you!

Listen to an interview with Robert Beck on Rag Radio — Here.

Note: Before Robert Beck started West Side Canvas, his essays and paintings were featured in Weekend Column. See Robert Beck’s earlier columns here and here.

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