Page 6 of The Artist's Rival

“Well, pleasure to finally meet you too, Ellie,” Tatiana responds, shaking Ellie’s hand. Not knowing what more she could say, Tatiana nods and makes her way towards the table.

Meanwhile, Fred emerges from the kitchen, carrying dishes of potatoes, carrots, and duck, delicious steam reaching everyone’s noses and salivating their mouths.

“Thomas, could you help me, darling?” he cries out, almost tripping on the table's leg. Fortunately, none of the dishes fall, and he manages to set them all down.

Thomas quickly gets up, soon to disappear into the kitchen. When he reemerges, everyone is asked to sit down and begin sharing the food. Chatter and clinking of cutlery fills the dining room, wine is poured into glasses, and Tatiana finds herself sitting opposite Ellie, trying to listen in to the conversation playing out between her and a talented young artist, Marceline.

The voices of the two women now and then smooth into polite laughter, and whenever that happens, Ellie’s slightly glittering dress sparkles. Its black material has a glistening quality, enchanting to look at. Between the lively sparkle of her dress and the chiming of her jewelry, she looks quite remarkable to Tatiana.

“So… you don’t like my pictures?” Marceline inquires jokingly, though behind the veil of laughter Tatiana can sense a shadow of offense.

“That’s not at all what I’m trying to say,” Ellie takes a sip of wine, straightening up. “I only think that sometimes, in search of more experimental methods, we lose our artistic sensitivity. Don’t you agree?”

Something hot swirls around Tatiana’s head when she hears Ellie’s opinion, said a bit louder than the other parts of the conversation. She stabs a potato with her fork, confident in her suspicion that the remark was directed at her art, not Marceline’s.

Is that right? Who made you the expert, Ellie fucking Matthews?Thinking herself to be too self-absorbed, however, she puts some more garlic potatoes on her plate and listens on, curious to see where the conversation will take them.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Marceline smiles, cutting the duck.

“Through adhering to the art form’s conventions, though forever changing,” Ellie makes sure to note, “an artist, in my opinion, can convey particularly subtle nuances in meaning. Well perceptible, while also, more often than not, aesthetically pleasing.”

Her tone of voice did not contain even a note of condescension, though Tatiana could feel a sense of superiority in Ellie’s choice of words. Hers, Tatiana begins to see now, is the approach to art often found within the elites, championing the notion of keeping up the sophistication and literacy of the art world. Literacy dictated by themselves, of course. Feeling strongly about the subject matter, she waits on the edge of her seat for a chance to speak up. She can see Marceline blush, visibly offended.

“Do you think that because my pictures mix forms and involve experimental elements, I lose the nuances of traditional photography?” She tries to match Ellie’s casual tone but fails.

Tatiana barely knows Marceline, but even so, she is aware of the girl’s hot-headedness. Even though only twenty-two, Marceline is already commonly thought of as a prodigy in terms of experimental photography, creating beautiful works combining picture-taking and painting. Tatiana is a great admirer of her work.

“Not at all, Marceline, I’m so sorry—” Ellie stumbles, put in an awkward position. “I only like to think about the shock value a lot of contemporary art employs, regarding the subject matter or the form itself,” she digs her own grave further.

Tatiana catches Fred’s nervous glance in her direction, and suddenly understands why he chose to invite the two of them to the dinner. While a wonderful artist and friend, she knows Fred to be quite conflict-seeking, entertained by drama and disagreements.

“Ellie,” Tatiana finally decides to join in, “where would you draw the line, then? Between participating in the evolution of art and defying it by unnecessary transgression?”

Their eyes meet, Ellie’s are a bright emerald green and she smiles showing off lovely neat white teeth. Tatiana can see that she’s not used to conflict, the corners of her mouth curl slightly in discomfort.

Ugh, I hate her. And why does she have to be so frustratingly beautiful?

“That’s definitely up for interpretation, but I would say that if an artist resorts to incorporating elements shockingly outside of the form, or seemingly in defiance of it—” here she stops for a moment, thinking, “which I’m unsure now how to define precisely, probably as a form of denial of some sort… Then they are relying on the transgressive nature of the artwork, not on its quality, or skill involved, or even the pure message.”

Tatiana turns the argument over and over in her thoughts, nauseatingly familiar with the train of thought, but looking for the most compelling way to show how harmful such beliefs can be to the developing artists.

“Every style seemed pretty transgressive at the time of its birth,” she says, carefully.

“For sure,” agrees Ellie, clearly wanting to sneakily escape the conversation.

Soon, the subject fades away in favor of others, and Tatiana turns to Thomas, having barely talked with him until now. They engage in casual small talk, and not having much in common with each other besides Fred, they naturally turn to the subject of his art. Fred’s recent series of paintings exploring the theme of tears caused much stir in their circle. He built an entire installation made up of enormous glass drops made of crystal, reflecting light beautifully in little specks along the walls of his studio, only to then paint them, and dismantle the installation afterwards.

“Each time I go to see it, I find some new remarkable detail,” Tatiana admits.

Thomas nods, proud of his fiancé.

“Are you guys not moving in together?” she asks, out of curiosity and lack of a better question.

“No, not yet,” Thomas sighs, “we both really appreciate private space.”

Fred interrupts, breaking into a very loud tone, clearly ready to stir things up.

“So, Tatiana—what do you think of Ellie’s exhibition? Have you been?”

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