Riot time in Paris // Billie Eilish G!P

Chapter twenty

"Why are we here?" Marie-Louise asked, turning to her students.

"To paint?" Graham chuckled at his own joke.

Marie-Louise rolled her eyes. "Yes of course we're here to paint, Graham. This is a painting course after all. But I mean why here, on this busy beach? Why not on a quiet one where we have all the space in the world?" Billie looked over the Cannes Croisette, the main promenade in Cannes.

As fitting as Marie-Louise's van seemed in the fields, right here, it was definitely out of place. The whole area oozed money, with flashy cars zooming past, big yachts anchored not far from shore, and wealthy women flaunting their oversized shades and designer purses on the two-kilometer stretch of beach, lined with tall palm trees, expensive hotels, shops and restaurants. But Cannes was also clearly an artistic town, with many galleries and street artists, who were selling their work along the promenade or painting portraits of tourists. They had set up behind the promenade wall, facing the beach, which was starting to get busy despite the early hour.

"Are we going to paint people?" Billie asked.

"Exactement!" Marie-Louise raised her voice and made a theatrical gesture, as if Billie had just qualified for the next round of a quiz show. "Many famous beach scenes have been painted throughout history. Renoir, Picasso, Van Gogh, Dali, Monet... Are you all familiar with Henri Matisse?" The group nodded.

"Well, let me tell you that no one painted people like Matisse. You see, when you look at most of his beach paintings from a reasonable distance, you can see people engaged in activities. Whether they're fishermen, swimmers, or children, playing, they're clearly there. But when you get close up, you realize that they're just mere blobs of color. I mean, they're brilliant blobs of color, no offense to Matisse."

She held up a print out of one of his paintings, named The Red Beach, as an example, and next to it, a close up of the same work. "See? They're not realistic in the sense that they resemble the exact human form, but our imagination finishes the job for him."

She put the sheets back in her bag and gave a demonstration, painting a group of people below them on the beach. Billie watched her jot down a beach scene in less than three minutes. God, she's talented. The demonstration had attracted heaps of tourists, who were admiring her skills. Marie-Louise stepped back from her easel and smiled at them before turning back to her students.

"What I'm trying to say is, don't overthink it. Don't be intimidated by the fact that you'll have people in your work this time. Treat them the same way as you treat trees or flowers, or even water. Just color, form and light. That's all there is to it."

As the group went to work, the beach got more crowded. It was a lot harder to paint a moving scene than it was to paint a field, Billie thought, but she tried to steer away from details and capture the essence of the bigger picture. Graham told them about all the great restaurants he and his wife had visited, and pointed out a network of streets behind them that he referred to as Satanville, his wife's favorite shopping area.

"I'm telling you, that woman is working her way through her savings and her pension and soon she'll start chipping into mine," he said.

Marie-Louise, who was also very familiar with Cannes, gave them tips on great places to paint in case they wanted to practice. Everyone was in a good mood, but Samantha was especially chirpy. She hummed along to the music coming from one of the beach cafés, looking stunning in a green dress that complemented her red hair.

"Samantha didn't come home last night," Brenda announced to the group with a wink. 1

"Jesus, Mum. That's private." Samantha shot her mother a fierce look.