Simple Sadie - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

My name is Clara. I’m an artist. But it is only since I moved to this retirement community that I dared call myself an artist. I’ve won prizes and sell my paintings, too.

I arrived here eight years ago. At the time, my husband was with me. I have many friends. All types. Some more interesting than others. Sadie… she was something else, with her sox that sometimes didn’t match and, when she was in a hurry, neither did her earrings.

I, personally, would not have paid much attention to her, but we took the same bus at the same stop. I went to my art class and she to – who knew where back then?

One day I happened to sit next to her. I settled down and began going over, in my mind, some of the family problems. Was my son-in-law going to buy out his partner finally? And wasn’t it time now for my daughter Cheryl to start coloring her hair? Suddenly she turns to me.

“I love your scarf. All those shades of lavender and purple. My favorite colors,” she says.

I look at her. A little speck of a woman. I happen to be on the large side and happy about it, thank you. She stared at that scarf until the minute she got off at the next stop.

A few days later, while we were both waiting for the bust, it begins to rain. She opens up an enormous umbrella and insists on sharing it with me. Her arm couldn’t quite reach over my head, so I held it over us.

It became a steady thing – this same lady getting on the bus and invariably sitting with me. I learned a lot about Sadie. She came from Providence, Rhode Island and had always worked for the State. Never married. It seemed her mother needed her.

Ii began feeling sorry for her. It was like she never had a life. Just work. Went on vacations with her mother. That kind of thing. So I invited her to a tea for new and prospective members of my organization, which was the following week. Without hesitation she accepted, but when I met her at the bus stop that day, I was having second thoughts.

The way she was dressed, you wouldn’t believe. Like from a consignment shop. A long, lace dress, and get this – a large red straw hat with a flower on it, yet. And make-up? All over her face. How was I going to walk in with this woman? I hoped it would be very crowded, so no one would notice.

But the worse was yet to come. She spilled coffee on Ann Simon’s new white shoes. And something else I discovered about her. When she got nervous she stuttered. I stopped introducing her, and was very relieved when she took an earlier bus home.

After that episode I stated to walk to another bus stop on another line, but my arthritis kicked up so there I was, back at the old stop, fighting waves of pity and terror whenever she approached. But you can’t sit like a dummy when you already know a person, so we talked. She asked me about my art class.

“I always wanted to do something like that, “ she said, wistfully.

Would you believe, this little ootsla shows up next week in my class! Never held a brush in her life. At first she was borrowing this and that from everyone. People began to act very cool to her. And her paintings! Like nothing I’ve ever seen.

You’d think for a quiet little person there would be a few flowers, a vase, a kitten. No. Nothing anyone could recognize. Week after week she turned out these wild paintings, working away like a demon. Where did all that energy come from? She painted funny shapes and weird combinations of colors. Even the teacher was amazed and had very little to say to her. When it came time for the semiannual art show, Sadie had twenty-five paintings ready. But who would buy them?

As it happened she sold every one.

What a week that was! Reporters from the local newspapers and TV were there. People were lining up to buy her paintings. After that, it was nothing but fame and fortune for little Sadie. Other galleries competed for her work.

What got me was the time she walked up to accept a prize. My heart beat fast for her. Was she going to stutter? Maybe she would do herself a favor and say nothing. Just a smile and a thank you, but surprise of surprises, she began making a speech. Gone was the stuttering. Instead, I thought she would never shut up, which she finally did.

Back in class who but Freddie Ansler, my secret crush, starts hanging around her, looking over her should while she paints, like she is the teacher.

An art critic from up North came to interview her. Sadie asked me to come to her house, in case she might get nervous. He was an older man, very distinguished. The way he treated her, like she was another Georgia O’Keefe. He took us both out to lunch. I was the one who was nervous, but he had eyes only for Sadie. Later, his review appeared in our local paper, and what a write-up that was, most of which I did not comprehend.

Here is a formidable, new addition to the art scene, an artist who knows risk, yet is disciplined, translating excesses into freedom. Her paintings are endowed with a magical inner life. They take on a glow of vitality without any of the histrionic slashing strokes of a Willem de Kooning. Only a soft subtlety that both disarms and envelops.

It is impossible not to be moved by the luxuriant flora, as well as the geometric vistas. Setting the luscious colors down with an almost uncontrollable extravagance, gives you a hint of her lingering, haunting power. Her canvasses explode with a wildness that yet arrives at a harmony. Sadie Simplotsky takes abstract art beyond certainty, letting the uncharted possibilities resonate.

I sat down, exhausted by what I had read. I’ll have to take another look, I thought. So a few days later I went to a nearby gallery. The place was almost empty. I took my time. I stood directly in front of each of her paintings, studying them, letting it sink into my mind, my emotions.

Gradually I began to recognize something – a liveliness, like a life was bursting through. All those moods, so delicately done and with such skill. I understood them and I loved them. What a Sadiela!

Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.

Simple Sadie by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb