Love This! "Girlfriends I Never Had"

I love an artist with a good story behind their work. Someone who starts a creative series because of a feeling, a need, or a desire to tell a story that can only be told through art--and who then succeeds at getting their story across (that's the most difficult part!).

Today's featured artist, Adam Lupton, is an artist who has done just that. 

His series, "Girlfriends I Never Had," tells the story of those moments in daily life when we feel a fleeting connection with a complete stranger. The person that you see in public, who you lock eyes with momentarily and even feel a sense of attraction to, and then never see again. 

I think we've all made up fake stories in our minds about what would happen if we actually talked to one of these people, and that's kind of what Lupton has done here. He says the following about this work:

These are snapshots of epic love stories that never happened – moments of relationships I've created in my mind. They're the girls I see walking down the street, exchange a smile with in yoga, or have an absolutely meaningless conversation with in a line... and I imagine these serene relationships unfold. Yet, in their perfection, for one reason or another, they don't happen. I find it funny, and I find it kind of sad...These are the girlfriends I never had.

Interesting, don't you think? I've included Lupton's description of each "epic love story" below the painting, and here's his story behind the painting at the top of the page:

 It was rainy. It’s Vancouver, it normally is. I saw her traipsing through the cobblestones in taper jeans and vintage black leather heels. I figured there’d be long walks in the fall, the dying leaves giving themselves to nice poetry or prose: Stanley Park or Strathcona or wherever. She’d look up at me from under her umbrella, and I’d just know... that cinematic moment. It all fell apart when she kissed her boyfriend – he seemed like a douche. He was wearing sun glasses. It was rainy.

 Above: I saw her at the bar, downing shots of Jack and dancing to every late 70’s Brit Punk song that came on. I figured we could extol our time slinging cheap beer in dive halls and back alley bars playing foosball, arguing over The Beatles & The Stones... and in the morning she’d bathe in sunlight reading her favourite book of poems, written by an Italian poet from the 13th century. Then, in the blink of an eye, she disappeared back into the crowd, and I haven’t seen her since.

Above: I have the biggest crush on this girl. I see her at the coffee shop I go to, mostly aimlessly stirring whatever coffee type drink is in front of her. We talk once in awhile, pleasantries – no straight talk about souls. And even though I know we could never work, that doesn’t stop me from falling for her over and over and over...

Above: The room sort of stopped and shifted when she walked in – she had that look that gave every guy false hope. I wanted to take her by the arm and drive: we wouldn’t care where, we’d be alone with nothing to do but talk 72 hour talks punctuated with Dylan & Morrison & Isaac Brock & every other member of the Lonely Hearts Club, drinking and dancing and saluting the red morning light. Then the room shifted back a bit too fast as I fell off my chair

Above: I was teased by her blouse as she whispered over to get my drink order. She seemed bigger than this cattle range – we could drown existential ideals and raving sexuality in Cab Sav as we half nakedly cheated with HBO Sunday. We’d burn through bottles and we’d burn through sheets, like a handful of strike-anywhere matches thrown into a room of sparklers on the 4th of July. Yet, as past repeats, I’ve broken my own heart over many a girl there.

Above: She had the style to be a proper dame, that jive and jazz and twist and shout with the sinking sun over milkshakes in outcasts’ diners, sharing all prophetic holy knowings that had been lurking in our souls all our lives: that sense of happiness that comes from hurting deep down inside. We threw smiles at one another, passing on our bikes to her rippling sundress, looking back at ten yards to see each other off on some unnamed, uncharted voyage.

Above: She was the friend of a friend’s friend: a wayward woman who had a penchant for late night crawls through train yards, hotel bars, and the backdoors of back alleys. She’d be the joker to the thief of the night with a riotous passion for life curing laughter... at least that’s the story I made up for her in my mind. I think I preferred it to anything actual, so I left her standing across the party, probably making up fictional stories about people in her head.

Above: She was an advert in the magazine I had just picked up. She looked gazingly off like she was contemplating the causality of time travel, although I think she was selling make up of some sort. I figured with her look and my charm, we’d enthrall balls and dinner parties and dignitaries and rub elbows with people we didn’t really care to rub elbows with but did anyway. We’d doll ourselves up, finding new people to be every night – and I’d just linger and watch her get ready for the evening. I turned the page.

Ugh, I'm such a sucker for romance, it's not even funny. Even when it's imaginary!  I love these little stories, and being able to peer into someone else's mind. I also love hearing a guy's perspective on these kinds of moments, as I think that we women often think that we're the only ones who have dreams about that "perfect" love story...

You can view more of Adam Lupton's [incredible] work on his website and/or his blog.  

Have a *dreamy* day!