Page 38 of Painting Celia

That at least got an expression out of her, if only the usual doe-eyed trepidation.

“It’s nice,” she said, wary.

“No feelings about it, then?”

She glanced wistfully back at Trevor, then faced down the painting.

It was shades of white with a stripe of yellow running horizontally across it about two-thirds of the way up. Organic, like marble with a vein of gold. Simple.

“It’s cold,” she said. “Subtle. It looks like stone. The gold up high looks top-heavy, like the bottom half is too fragile to hold it up.”

He wasn’t letting her get away with that. “None of those words describe feelings.”

“I don’t know, then!” she hissed, shaking her elbow loose from his hand.

He shook his head. “Maybe this one is a bit advanced.”

“And I’m not,” she finished for him. “Fine, what does it make you feel?”

“Optimism,” he said firmly. “That shock of yellow through the neutral whites and grays is like a burst of joy, like seeing someone you love come through a door. I feel calm, relaxed, balanced, then excited because that burst of unexpected happiness interrupts the peace.”

She stared at him. “That’s the story?” Her eyes turned upon it again, doubt written across her face.

“The artist may have meant something else,” León said, “but that’s the feeling I get. The viewer is an active participant in art. As long as I feel something, it doesn’t matter what it is. But good painters, yes, they can communicate something specific.”

She shook her head, her brow furrowing. He moved her to the next one.

This one should be easier since it had a recognizable object. It was broad swipes of grays, darker at their edges, creating a mosaic look. The geometric shapes combined into the form of a chair. León instantly saw a kaleidoscopic view of reality, a mundane object viewed through a shattered lens. He felt intrigued, with a childlike curiosity about what else one could see through this new prism.

“What do you see? What does this make you feel?” He watched her face as she struggled to perform the task.

“Tiles. A mosaic. Um, it’s comforting?”

She was trying so hard. “Why comforting?”

“Because it broke, but the pieces are glued back together stronger. It’ll be okay.”

Good girl. Seeing something he hadn’t didn’t make her wrong. It just mattered that she’d found an emotion in it.

Her eyes on his were both frightened and relieved, waiting to hear that she’d done well. He turned to her.

“How do you feel right now, not about the painting, but just in your body?”

“Worried. I don’t know if I got it right.”

“No, in your body.”

She closed her eyes. Seeing her soften eased León’s temper.

“Heart is beating faster,” she said. “And I feel jumpy, too much energy.”

“Good. You’re getting better at this.”

Relief flooded her, the tension leaving her shoulders, her face thawing with the warmth he’d been waiting for. She opened her eyes again and inhaled sharply, suddenly realizing how near he stood. She stole back a step.

“Let’s do another,” he said.

She stiffened instantly. Dammit!

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