Page 2 of The Artist's Rival

“Ah yes, I’ve been to the gallery.” A clumsy whisper makes its way to Tatiana across the bar.

A young pair, apparently finding it impossible to keep quiet, exchange some recent experiences with the art scene of the city, hunched over their drinks.

The woman, girl, really, resembles Tatiana's old friends from college—her clothes and hairstyle communicating an avid interest in art, or perhaps fashion. Her dangling pearl earrings reflect beautifully the dim light above the bar. The sparkle carries a tinge of warmth.

“What’d you think about the new painter there?” asks the boy, in no whisper at all.

If Tatiana cared about the musical performance, their conversation would be annoying.

“The woman?” The girl continues without hearing the answer, “I thought her paintings seemed very…serene? Very calming.”

“Definitely. I liked them a lot.” The boy shifts on his seat, finishing his martini. “Some of the best landscapes out there right now, for sure,” he states, self-assured.

Tatiana, now particularly invested in the conversation, decides to join in and inquire about the artist, unsure whether she recognizes the gallery. Carefully picking up her purse, she leaves the transfixed Connie in favor of the loud couple, ready to investigate.

“Excuse me,” she smiles. “I overheard you talk about painting, and wanted to ask?—”

She sits down next to them, already a bit sorry to interrupt. But the pair seems welcoming.

“Do you remember the name of the artist?” A tinge of hope decorates the last syllables of her question, hung in the air vibrating with jazz. Not many people remember contemporary artists’ names, but the boy visibly wants to impress his companion, straining his memory.

“Umm…” He furrows his brows, focused, “some generic surname, like… Matthews? Yeah, Matthews, I think. I don’t know the first name,” he says, beaming with pride.

“Alright, thanks a lot anyway. Are you two art students?” Tatiana asks, always invested in seeking out budding artists.

“I am.” The girl smiles, leaning in closer not to shout over the music, though the piece is just coming to an end. “I study sculpture at the university nearby.”

“Sculpture! That’s beautiful!” Tatiana’s eyes shine. “Are you familiar with Dominik Khan, by any chance?”

“Yes, I’ve been to see a live interview with him recently.” The crowd erupts with applause for the music.

“You know, he’s my father,” Tatiana states, proudly.

The pair turn out to be very perceptive and knowledgeable, making the evening particularly pleasant for Tatiana. Their conversation flows, weaving in its fabric various subjects dear to her heart, such as artistic legacy and subverting tradition. Talking with young artists and art enthusiasts never fails to amaze Tatiana. She grows excited to see what the future brings for art, recognizing in the students the same sensitivity that drew her towards creating. She buys the pair a drink each and makes her way back to her original seat.

Something weighs heavy on her, however. Remembering their initial conversation, she feels unprofessional, not having heard of the rising talent already getting exhibited. Even though landscapes are her domain, she has no idea about this person. She takes out her phone, and blinded by the screen’s light, notes down Matthews - paintings. Curiosity bubbles in her chest.

Connie seems to be having a good time, talking to Terry and his band. She looks charming in her teal dress, as if fresh out of an art deco painting. Tatiana always thought her much too good for all the men she chose to date.

“Where did you disappear?” Connie turned to welcome Tatiana into the conversation. Her cheeks seemed slightly blushed with wine.

“I learned something interesting,” Tatiana raises her voice over the room’s chatter. “A painter I haven’t heard of is exhibiting her landscapes.”

Terry laughs.

“I don’t get why you choose to paint these boring things,” he shakes his head, dismissively.

“Terry, stop being an asshole,” interrupts Connie. “Landscapes can convey a lot of emotion. And especially if you understand the traditions, you can see how a painter chooses to interpret them.”

“That’s some art school talk.” He turns to order another drink.

“And what have you been working on, recently?” Tatiana asks Connie, wishing to move past the unpleasant exchange.

“A new collage for some gallery.” Connie shrugs. “I’m not happy with it at all, but I need commissions, so…”

Tatiana nods, feeling the weariness of the day on her shoulders. She considers buying another drink, as she would usually do, but decides against it. Besides, Terry is a real nuisance to be around, and she doubts she would get any meaningful conversation out of Connie in his vicinity.

“Listen, Con,” she taps her friend’s shoulder gently. “I think I’ll head home, I’m very tired today.”

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