I always enjoy going to the hairdresser. I'm either locked into a Paris Match world or the goings on of people I've barely heard of in celebrity magazines, or I'm listening, enthralled, to the real life that's parading before my eyes.
Today in my favourite Jean Vallon salon the leggy brunette come blond was not there re-colouring her locks. It was the end of the day, and things were winding up for the evening. The owner of the salon whose name escapes me but would have to be something like 'Jason' was to cut my wayward locks after they had been coloured by she-of-duck-feet. Up until the wash basin I was out of it, consumed in a world where George Clooney was saying he was a confirmed bachelor (*sob*), Sego was getting fashionista advice on how to perk up her rather staid outfits and Whitney Houston was re-emerging into life after escaping from her disasterous marriage to whatisname.
Gripping stuff as I'm sure you'll agree. Still, it came to an end when my colour had 'taken' and had to be washed out. I was then left at the basin with 'soin' doing it's soin-ful thing on my now colourful head, without fascinating reading material. Within seconds however, I was aware of a terribly interesting conversation going between Jason and a female client of a certain age.
For my last few visits to this salon, strange but colourful paintings have appeared dotted about amongst the mirrors. They have one theme - la corrida (bull fighting) and blare out at you from vivid fushias, reds, yellows and golds. I wouldn't say they lacked imagination but that, in my humble opinion, is about all they don't lack.
I suppose it should be no surprise to learn that these paintings are the work of Jason (and this is my friend Sandy) and he has actually put prices on his work (around 80€). He was discussing painting then, with client-of-a-certain-age, who, it turned out, also enjoyed dabbling in acrylic. Painting is actually a pretty expensive business, and they were discussing this aspect of the creative muse at one point. Overheard was a comment along the lines of "well, you should go to la Foire Fouille and buy the paintings there for 5€ and paint over them! It's a much cheaper source of canvas". Staggered, I opened my ears wider to catch more pearls of wisdom with which to share with all you budding Monets.
As the hairdryer was turned on, however it was as if a spy had entered the room and had decided to drown out his secret conversation by running the bath. Much good did wagging my ears do me; I couldn't make out anything of note.
When Jason turned his attention to me, however, I decided I didn't want to broach the topic of art too closely - you never know what they'll ask you - but skirted the issue by addressing the world of the internet.
Jason had never heard of blogs and said he didn't have internet at home although he frolicked on the keyboard ivories when he visited friends. He had never heard of RyanAir, so I presume he didn't venture north much which, for a trendy hairdresser, surprised me. I waxed lyrical about the wonders of blogging, and how, with a digital camera, he could exhibit his paintings for all cyberspace, or just stock pictures of them privately for posterity. As I left (having hoped I had reached the tenth free session, but found to my chagrin that I was only on number 9), I wrote down for him the address of the Promo'Arts blog and suggested he might like to have a look the next time he had the opportunity. He was most pleased and said he would. I may have another convert on my hands, and, better still, maybe another member for our association. I'll have to nip back with a brochure...
Just as long as he doesn't ask to exhibit...