A n a i s

Anais Durant. Artist. Curator. Business Owner.

[sansdurant-blog]

travis-cs‌:

Travis smiled, even if he had enjoyed her first piece, if she wanted to take pictures of others who was he to say otherwise, she knew her work probably better than anyone so he was going to let her pick and just try to help someone out, after all, he thought she had talent and even if he still didn’t have the place to actually buy one of her paintings and show it off. That’s when it came to him and nice idea to buy the painting for his mothers, but first, he needed to know he had the money to pay it for “Hey, just for plain curiosity how much is worth it?”

“Crowds can be rather intimidating. But hey you are not alone in this, and luckily it will over soon, midnight is coming rather quick” He had been scared a lot of times, he didn’t really didn’t minded to show or say when he was, it was a part of the job, a part of dealing with it and make it less big inside yourself. Travis smiled and nodded “Sure, sounds like a great plan, I might need the time off from all the people.” 

“How much is it worth?” Careful consideration was necessary for transactions such as this, but Anais’ face broke into a smile before she knew what to do with herself. “Not much. Are you asking for yourself? I would give it to you if you wanted to photograph my better pieces. That one? Non. It’s nothing.” 

All she needed was the agreement that crowds could be intimidating. Anais nodded, but her direction was pointed toward the upper deck even before he had agreed that he needed an escape from the throng of partygoers. “Leeches,” she muttered more to herself than to him. At least she had the sense to carry her bag closer to her core than before. 

Once the pair of them were on the upper deck, Anais breathed in the ocean air and allowed her shoulders to relax. “I hate it,” she admitted. “The dancing.” Was that too much? “The...” Closeness. She pulled her arms close to her torso, but finally let them release, “Tight. It feels tight.” That was the best way to describe things, wasn’t it? Everything felt packed in. “The drink makes it easier.”

[sansdurant-blog]

travis-cs‌:

Travis returned the bag to the owner “I need to write that one down, you know in case I have to ask you for a favor” He smirked, of course, he was not really going to do it but it seemed like a funny thing to say. 

“Oh really, that sucks, it was a beautiful painting, if not I think I will take a picture and send it to a friend back in NY I’m sure she will love it.” Travis smiled looking at his camera “Yeah, I don’t get out of the house without one. It’s also like my lucky amulet, makes me feel safe and I need that tonight.” He looks at his glass and sighed “Yeah, let’s do, I think beer will do”

“You would be more than welcome to take a photograph, yes.” It wasn’t a bad idea, to be honest. Sans Durant could use the exposure, and she had quite a few pieces that would play well with a photographer’s lens. “Perhaps of a different painting, though. Unless you’re fond of that one.” 

She was too sharp to avoid noticing that he’d mentioned a need to feel safe. Under different circumstances, she might’ve demanded an explanation, but she didn’t know Travis well enough to pry. Her brows betrayed her curiosity, but she pulled both of them toward the bar and placed an order before she could further embarrass herself. When the drinks finally arrived, she broke her silence, “I don’t enjoy crowds, either. Not ones like this.” I shouldn’t have come, lingered on the tip of her tongue, but remained unsaid. “If you like, we can find somewhere that isn’t so...” She struggled with the word she needed, motioning only to the crowd before she settled on, “Busy.” 

[sansdurant-blog]

vy-acosta‌:

“Sure, she was this way,” Valeria explained, heading off in the direction of the bathrooms. “A petite redhead with a ponytail and freckles,” she described as they scanned the area for the attendant to whom Valeria had handed over the clutch. “I was in the bathroom touching up my makeup for about five minutes and it was unattended, I assumed someone forgot it and just wanted to get it into safe hands,” she explained somewhat apologetically.

“It was the right idea, taking it to the desk.” Anais could wave off an apology easily when one considered that Valeria was just doing what anyone in her situation would. The alternative might’ve been to leave the bag or take it, and Anais was grateful that she hadn’t done either. Still yet, she couldn’t be sure if the bag was hers at all. “Better that than leaving it where it was. Merci. To tell you the truth, I’m only missing my cigarettes. It seems closed spaces do not suit me.” 

The admission was made with no small amount of shame, though Anais was quick to round the conversation as she spotted a the red hank of a ponytail. “Is that her? The attendant?” It must have been, she decided long before she touched Valeria’s shoulder to turn her gaze in the proper direction. 

[sansdurant-blog]

rachelchandlcr‌:

The other woman was behaving relatively calm, having lost her bag in the middle of a busy crowd. Sure, if someone had taken it they couldn’t get too far, but that didn’t mean it was safe to leave it unattended. Thankfully Rachel’s bag was strapped across her body, her belongings laying safe against her hip. It didn’t stop her from feeling slightly stressed for her. “No, unfortunately not.” She glanced around the area once more, maybe overlooking it, but spotted nothing. “Do you remember where you last had it?” Even if the bag seemed to carry no significance, she figured she’d at least like a chance of getting it back.

She felt altogether foolish for approaching a stranger, but Anais had no other choice than to reach out to anyone in the area. “Here, actually.” A flourish of her hand indicated the bar, “So far, no dice.” It was unfortunate, too, as she’d just printed new business cards and had rather hoped to drum up some small amount of interest in Sans Durant by the end of the night. “Then again, it could be on the upper deck... I was there earlier.” Thinking aloud was commonplace for the artist, but she was smart enough to curb the habit before she appeared to be playing the role of an eccentric detective, “Ah, but it’s fine. The bag is beige, by the way. This big -- -” she pantomimed the size with her index fingers and thumbs, “- -- or around this size. I’m Anais, by the way. If you do see any sign of it.”

Detaching from the conversation was the next logical step, but she decided against it at the very last second. Without a thought about filtering her request, Anais nodded toward the bar, “Would you like to get drinks and go to the upper deck with me?” Foolish. It was imposing, to say the least, but Anais stuck to her guns. “Company might be nice while I search, but... this place is crowded, so I thought to offer.”

[sansdurant-blog]

jacksonbartos‌:

“We’ll have a little faith. I mean, not like most people on this yacht would have much use out of someone else’s bag,” he shrugged, noting that most attendees probably had more money in savings than he had in his checking account. “Jackson, in case that does happen. You can let me know and I’ll stop the search.” He wasn’t really sure what her bag looked like, but hey, he’d keep his eye out for the needle in the haystack. “Guess if you had to lose something, that was a pretty good thing, huh?”

“At the rate the party is going, they might need it as a... Sick bag, I think is the word?” That sounded more polite than ‘vomit receptacle,’ at any rate. Anais forced a smile and folded her arms behind her back, scanning the crowd while Jackson gave his name and a promised to keep an eye out for her bag. “What a gentleman,” her laughter was at her own expense, though she supposed it may very well have come across as rude. Apologizing wasn’t on the table, however, so Anais shrugged and nodded out toward the crowd, “If anyone finds it in this mess... Well, it would take someone very talented.” Superhuman, really, but there was no sense in rehashing that. 

The issue now was that she had gotten herself stuck in the familiar loop of conversation with a stranger at a party. She was capable of relaxing into the ebb and flow of small talk, but had cut herself off at the knees in terms of topics of conversation. Stupid mistake. After a bit of doing, she threw out the only lifeline she could think of, “I suppose you must have a date walking somewhere around here?” Another pass was afforded over the crowd, as if Anais could pick the person out of the throng. “Gone to get drinks, perhaps.”

[sansdurant-blog]

melusinemcran‌:

               The yacht, opulent and brimming with fairy lights of various colours, balloons strewn across the dance floor, the almost volcanic thrumming of some kind of music Melusine was not privy to, and the agent historian in a champagne coloured dress composed of an abundance of tulle, ivory lace embroidering the bodice, with matching heels placing her stature at around five, seven, sage hues meandering around the hoards of people that had accumulated. In truth, Melusine resolved to nestle in her apartment with Dashwood, a bottle of bubbly and some trashy Hallmark movies, but she was told to scope out the party, the agency purchasing her a ticket (and subsequent dress since she didn’t own such an alluring garment), a gun, .380 pistol (for all intents and purposes, her favourite accessory, of course, the pearl earrings helped also), placed beneath the dress — thank god it wasn’t skin-tight or it would make for an artless position of where to situate the weapon. Migrating towards the bar, Melusine ordered a whiskey sour, though she couldn’t actually consume the drink, it would be suspicious if she didn’t have at least one, lingering throughout the night, before she detected a tender graze, her lips contorting into a smile as she matched the older woman’s gaze. “Anais, ravissante, comme toujours,” she uttered, mutely grateful to see a familiar face. Of course, San Francisco’s best and brightest was certain to attend. “Aye love, I think a majority of the party-goers are carrying such a thing, but perhaps we’ll have better luck on the port side.” Her voice was thunderous over the rhythmic music pervading the almost disorderly ambience.  

Though Melusine was the last person Anais expected to find on the yacht, she was grateful for the historian’s presence nevertheless. English was traded for French as a sigh of relief pushed itself from her lungs, “Mélusine, vous ne pouvez pas imaginer à quel point je suis heureux de vous voir.” It was appreciated, too, that her friend was willing to put a plan into action rather than pointing her toward the lost and found. Anxiety fell away in paper-thin pieces while Anais ordered a drink of her own and nodded in time with the options presented to her. 

“Port side sounds lovely.” She would’ve agreed to anything if it meant getting away from the crowd of the bar, though she’d die before voicing as much. Under normal circumstances --- normal being grounded firmly on land rather than taking to the open sea --- she would’ve been happy to glide her way through a party, or at least plug her art in before leaving, but the loss of her bag and a lack of escape routes left her feeling uneasy. A drink in her hand would go a long way toward assuaging the paranoia, but she’d feel much better after she had all her belongings. 

“We should go?” It was less a question than an observation as she slid her arm into Melusine’s and lifted her glass in their intended direction. “I should be thanking you for helping me. I don’t believe I thought about how crowded a boat could be.” She hadn’t, evidently, considered that half of San Francisco would save up enough money to get drunk on a boat at the start of the year. “You look lovely, Melusine. I’m glad you’re here.”

[sansdurant-blog]

vy-acosta‌:

Valeria noticed a small nude purse by the bathroom counter and notified the attendant that it had been there for a while. When she heard someone asking about a purse, Valeria spun around. “Was it a nude clutch? It was in the bathroom, I told the attendant that someone probably left it. If it’s yours, we can probably see if she still has it.”

Excitement was born and dashed in an instant as a stranger explained the status of her clutch. “It is a nice beige,” she agreed, nodding perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the prospect of a kindly stranger turning her wallet over to the authorities. “If it would suit you, I would love the help to find it. Which way was the attendant?” 

[sansdurant-blog]

marlofalk‌:

Running late - something Marlo rarely did but tonight was an exception. If her ticket would’ve gone to waste, she would’ve complained about it for the entire year. But luckily, she was in time to be pushed in with the crowd. Stepping inside, she looked for a place to settle down before someone stopped her. It took her a moment to recognize Anais, the friendly neighborhood artist. “Oh, hey.” Once the woman mentioned a tiny bag, Marlo began to scan the area around her before so noticed a pile of bags. At that moment she couldn’t have been happier that she had big pockets and didn’t have to bring a bag of her own. “Nothing wrong with being too ambitious.” Picking up the two smallest bags, she showed them to her. “Any luck?”

Marlo Falk was familiar only in that Anais had intruded upon her privacy on the train. The sketch she had done of the woman was given away immediately, but Anais could distinctly remember the angle of her nose and the curve of her jaw. Though her name took some time to materialize, Anais finally greeted the near-stranger with a gracious smile, “Ah, Marlo. I should’ve recognized you.” But she hadn’t -- - not initially - -- and there was no need to dwell on it. 

Both women set to work, pilfering through bags until two were brought to the attention of Anais. “Neither of those, no. Although the one on the left is nice... You should keep it to match your outfit.” A laugh was meant to indicate that she was joking, but there was a certain seriousness behind her words, even as she held up a wallet that appeared to have a celebrity's face stitched on the front with sequins. “Or perhaps this one. How do you feel about...” She squinted, turning the wallet every which way, “Aging... Elvis Presley?”

[sansdurant-blog]

jacksonbartos‌:

The whole night was meant to be worry-free. He wasn’t supposed to think about the night crew at the station, or that maybe they’d need his help and he’d have no way of getting there. It was easier to push aside with a date; a beautiful ( slightly younger ) woman he’d known briefly from his past. “Small bag,” he hummed, taking a look around before settling back on the woman in question. “Can’t say that I have, but I’ll definitely be on the look out for it. Smart move leaving the important stuff though. Hopefully it turns up.”

"How unfortunate.” He was the last of several people she had spoken to, and all of them had given a similar answer. Haven’t seen it! or I’ll look for it! or Who the fuck are you, lady? A tireless search had turned up nothing, so she was inclined to deflate and remained rooted to her spot. “I’m Anais. In case you do find it.” Just giving her name didn’t matter -- -  she wouldn’t somehow Beetlejuice her way to her wallet simply by being called - -- but it seemed like the right thing to offer, so she left it between them. “But there’s no need to look too hard. It’s empty, more or less.”

[sansdurant-blog]

travis-cs‌:

Travis was in the corner with his Leica, just taking pictures of the people around when he saw a small purse next to him. He took it on his hand and started to look around confused waiting for someone to reclaimed. He was already asking for his second boring glass of soda with lime when a familiar voice asked for a small bag. He turned carrying the bag in the most fabulous way he could think of “Here I thought I was going to be able to show around my new fab accessory.” He laughed “I will never understand who can you girls go without pockets. Nice to see you again, did you sell that beautiful paint of yours?”

It was a stroke of good fortune that must’ve shepherded her bag into the hands of someone she knew. As Anais let relief wash over her, she took the clutch back and secured it underneath her arm. “Thank you. This is the second time you’ve helped me out.” 

“I haven’t sold the painting, I’m afraid.” She wouldn’t get into the details -- - or her soul-crushing disappointment, for that matter - -- so she took the route of shrugging her shoulders as if failing was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re to be taking pictures tonight?” His camera was a welcome distraction, though not nearly as much as the nearby bar. “Would you like a drink? I would offer to buy to thank you for my clutch, but they’re part of the party.”

[sansdurant-blog]

TIME: 8:00 PM LOCATION: Dope ass party yacht, somewhere above deck

The yacht had yet to free itself from the harbor and Anais was already gently touching the elbow of a stranger in an attempt to grab their attention “Pardon ... ah, excuse me. I suppose you might’ve seen a small bag around here? It’s small--” She pantomimed the size of her clutch forlornly, her movements robotic and rehearsed. “The night has just begun and I’ve already lost track of it.” She was capable of laughing at her own stupidity, albeit bitterly and with no shortage of self-deprivation, “It’s a good thing that I left most anything important at home. Seems I was too ambitious.” 

[jaguarpenguins]

Visit Original Link

365 Days of Music

Day One-Hundred & Thirty

“Landslide (Live)” by Fleetwood Mac

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you But time makes you bolder Children get older I’m getting older too Yes I’m getting older too, so

[sansdurant-blog]

travis-cs‌:

“De rien” Travis responded in a very rough and untasteful french, as much as he enjoyed the language he knew his accent was almost a disgrace to everyone who talked it. Travis turned to look at the woman surprise to meet the artist who made it “You did this, wow, it’s beautiful, congratulations. I’m sure people will love it.”

He chuckled and shook his head “Nah, my mother is a painter. She’s the artist, I’m a photojournalist, sometimes I do more artist works but yeah. Travis Campbell-Salvati, is a pleasure to meet you”

“Thank you, again.” There was something to be said for flattery, though Anais wouldn’t run the risk of scaring off a potential buyer or a patron of the arts by spewing her particular brand of snark. His compliments could be taken and tucked away for a later time, which seemed to be her intention as she took up the orange painting and moved to place it behind the desk she usually occupied. “I’ll find a home for this one elsewhere.” Her apartment, most likely, though there wasn’t much call for telling that to a stranger. 

“Your mother? Is she a local artist? Or ... what’s her name?” Even Anais wasn’t fool enough to think that she knew every artist to ever grace the streets of San Francisco, but there was still a glimmer of hope that she had been graced with artistic royalty. His name was taken and memorized, but her focus hinged on his occupation. “There’s an art to photojournaling.” Was that the right word? Shit. “The composition of it, especially. Do you work for a firm, or... perhaps you’re self-employed?”

[sansdurant-blog]

stellagvrcia‌:

Stella was halted in place by the woman who beckoned her attention and demand her opinion on something she hadn’t ever been able to come with herself. Even when she bought the house in which she resided now — she’d gotten a home decorator to come in and put the pieces together. Her husband at the time had left it in her hands, and she had no qualms about putting it in the hands of another and signing the check later on. “Oh, you might be asking the wrong person,” the woman said with a grimace on her face as she peered at the wall. 

“Can we try it a little further apart because I don’t know if two inches or three is going to make that big of a difference. You know, this is the kind of thing where you only notice. You think everyone else will — but no one really does.”

Anais was quick to cut the woman’s self-depreciation of at the knees, shaking her head as she lifted a hand to halt any nonsense about how she was asking the wrong person to judge the wall. “I’m not.” One of them had wandered into the gallery and was taking in the sights for what was possibly the first time. The other spent their day staring at the walls, agonizing over placement of paintings and their optimal viewing spaces. Anais hoped, if nothing else, to cater to the eye of a stranger so she could put the issue to bed entirely. 

At the woman’s suggestion, Anais pulled the paintings away from one another and took a few more steps away from the scene. “I think you may be on to something,” she smiled through her words. “I should’ve given them room to breathe. You’re right. I knew I asked the right person.” 

The work wasn’t over, but Anais pivoted from contemplation to charisma with ease. For all of Stella’s help, she’d still wandered into Sans Durant for one reason or another, so Anais extended a hand and offered her best smile, “Thank you. I’m Anais. Were you looking for something in particular here or just looking?”

[sansdurant-blog]

travis-cs‌:

Having a painter and college history art teacher as a mother made him be very respectful with art. He had spent most of his childhood surrounded by paints by books, and most of the stories he heard were about writers and painters. So coming to openings like this one was something he missed doing, it was a part of finding that balance he was seeking for badly.

Travis was immersed in finding the details of the paints when he was caught by surprise by the question of the curator. He took a second look at both paintings and went for the green “Green, I feel like it gives you a visual rest, is calm, intriguing, the orange is lovely but I think I feel like I need some kind of pause to breath.” 

A single word would’ve sufficed, but Anais appreciated the explanation nevertheless. She listened, contemplated, and finally swept her gaze across the wall as if to determine the credibility of his assertion.  By the end of her visual journey, she had little more to do than nod. “You’re right. The wall is busy; a break is in order. Merci. I find myself prone to second-guessing when I might put one of my works on the wall.” 

With her conundrum set aside, Anais regarded her company as being more than a sounding board. “Quite the analysis you’ve given me. Are you an artist yourself?”

[fromthemotionpicture]

[sansdurant-blog]

@lautredurant

[sansdurant-blog]

January 5th, 2019. 3:24 PM

It was a quiet afternoon when a lone man stepped into Sans Durant, a large box at hand, flat but held with care. “Miss Durant? A delivery for you.” The man introduced himself, removing the cap he donned. Such as he always did when stepping inside a residence or business. He didn’t speak much else, except to bid her a fair day before he left, wishing her a happy new year. 

Once handed over, the box felt light, but held clear instruction at the top next to the address of her business “Handle with care”. Such as the deliverer did. Only once opened did it reveal a bouquet of white lilies of the valley, donned with a grey silk ribbon to bind it together, held safely with the white paper to make it look more like a gift.

But was it? Or was this the start of an arrival?