Page 10 of The Artist's Rival

Tatiana enters the modern building, shiny and the color of bone. Its imposing pillars stretch tall, sturdy. She has always thought it to be designed particularly beautifully—even though simple, through its shape and materials it conveys a sort of ancient authority, reminiscent of Greek architecture. The long, wide staircase leads her into the main hall, already half-full, bustling with conversation. Along the walls are Ellie’s paintings, though not yet lit up. It seems to be quite a collection. She catches her own reflection in a mirror and flashes a smile, feeling particularly good about the way she looks tonight, her bright red hair shining in long strings, reflecting the strong, artificial light.

Finally, she can see someone get on the small stage and introduce Ellie. The introduction remains brief and contained, which she appreciates. There is nothing worse for Tatiana than a lengthy, self-absorbed introduction, knowing that the artists usually write them themselves anyway. She has to admit, Ellie looks radiant in her dark green dress, reminiscent of the jade stones found in old jewels. Her golden hair is embellished by golden pins, twinkling in Tatiana’s eyes.

“Good evening.” Ellie seems to be nervous, looking around the audience. “I want to begin by thanking you all for coming, but a few people in particular…”

Hearing the welcome, Tatiana slowly, unintentionally, drifts away. She knows these speeches by heart and having no mind to pay attention to Ellie’s words, she tunes into her calming voice. It flows like an ocean, tides licking the sand of her ears. For a moment, she shifts her attention onto the crowd, looking for familiar faces. She manages to spot Fred and Thomas, appearing exquisite in their matching suits, electric red. There are many acquaintances of hers here that she fell out of touch with or don’t talk to often, and a bunch of fresh, new faces. She listens in just as Ellie gets to the end of the lengthy formal introduction, full of gratefulness.

“Now, before I let you roam around and explore the works for yourselves, I wanted to give you brief context for these. This series of landscapes in particular is very personal to me, but in an unusual manner. As some of you may know, I’m very close with my family. Their never-ending support is what brought me here in the first place, I could never commit to my career without them. My mother and my father both influenced my creativity from the earliest age, but tonight I want to shift the focus onto my lovely sister, Alexandra. Recently we’ve been drifting further apart, but we still manage to call once in a while. Whenever we call, she likes to tell me about her dreams. Ladies and gentlemen, these are the landscapes of my sister’s dreams?—”

The audience claps, and Tatiana joins in, sincerely quite enchanted by the idea.

“When I first began sketching them, I didn’t think much of it. Later, however, I tried matching what I sketched with real places, finding much aesthetic satisfaction. Blending the elements into paintings evolved into the collection you can see now.”

Just as she finished the last sentence, the paintings lit up. Against the dark, ruby walls, the delicate pastels of Ellie’s landscapes provide a gentle respite for the eye. Tatiana comes up to the one closest, expecting to see this dreamy, unreal quality she imagined while Ellie was speaking. Her mind busies itself with the wonderful potential such a project has, but it all comes to a halt when she sees the most tame of landscapes. There is nothing in it to suggest a land of dreams, and she grows annoyed. She grows disillusioned with the conventions that still seem to tie together the art world.

She decides to look for the bathroom to take a break from the increasingly hot crowd, swarming around the images in large groups. On her way, she catches a glimpse of Ellie talking to a particularly elevated woman. The woman’s clothes, a bold, checkered dress with a matching jacket scream glamorous, complimented by her vibrant red lips. She looks spectacular. Soon, however, Tatiana loses them out of sight and enters the spacious bathroom. The tiles look polished to the extreme, white with ruby elements.

The cold water splashes on Tatiana’s hands, and while she’s applying the lavender-scented soap, she can see Ellie walk in, reflected in the mirror facing her. At first, Ellie doesn’t seem to notice Tatiana, preoccupied by something. Her dress touches the floor, rustling quietly with movement. She splashes water on her face, sighing heavily. Little droplets stick to her forehead, dropping to her eyelashes. Upon raising her face to begin fixing her makeup in the mirror, she at last crosses eyes with Tatiana. They look at each other, at a bit of a loss for words. Tatiana has clearly been observing Ellie, and they both stand aware of the fact.

“Everything alright?” Tatiana finally asks.

“Sure.” Ellie shrugs, smiling a bit smug. “I’m glad you came to see the opening. How do you like the paintings?”

Ellie’s shoulders stand softly bare under the cold bathroom light, her neck endearingly ornamented with one, single pearl. The pearl fits exactly in between her collarbones, moving up and down with the subtle tides of her breathing.

“I like them,” Tatiana says, nodding to herself.

Why can’t I stop fantasising about fucking her?

Not knowing what to say next, she feels oppressed by the intimacy of being with Ellie alone in an empty room. Her feet urge her to go, so she picks up her purse and leaves.

On her way back to the paintings, she feels burning annoyance grow in her chest. The heavy sensation keeps reminding her of her strange behavior, clearly quite rude. She has no explanation for her brisk response, besides the fact that she really dislikes the paintings. The wasted potential of the concept keeps getting on her nerves, and passing from frame to frame, she picks up a glass of champagne. The refreshing liquid slides down her throat pleasantly, with a gentle bubbling.

“Tatiana!” Fred calls to her, quite tipsy and joyful. “I adore it; I’m fascinated by her idea.”

“As if you two haven’t been talking about these paintings for months prior,” Tatiana smiles, looking at his genuine excitement.

“Don’t tell me you think this isn’t brilliant.” He steps back.

Tatiana looks around the hall, taking in the paintings. She can see the craft, the skill, the endearing little boats floating atop seas of dreams. When she thinks that these truly represent someone’s dreaming state, a landscape woven out of someone’s morning recollections, she shivers with admiration. What disturbs her is that she could easily confuse these with any other landscape paintings. Especially the ones closer to impressionism, perhaps, the soft edges and pastel colors reminiscent of the style. Nonetheless, they looked like any other lake, any other sea. The meaning, in her opinion, was not well translated.

“I… Honestly, I don’t think she managed to convey the idea well,” Tatiana admits, still looking at the painting facing them.

Fred waves her away, dismissively shaking his head.

“Girl, you’re just obsessed with critiquing Ellie’s art. Admit it. It’s good.”

“It’s good.” Tatiana nods. “It fails to be great.”

They part ways, each called to different parts of the hall. Tatiana shortly meets Marceline, but their conversation feels fragmented and inconsistent, so each makes up an excuse to drift away back into the crowd. Tatiana admires the young Marceline greatly, but they tend to gravitate towards very different spheres, she recently noticed. Putting her empty glass back on the tray, she contemplates drinking another one. The golden bubbles swim up, defying gravity. An appealing invitation she nonetheless decides to postpone.

Out of the crowd of voices Tatiana gradually untangles the thread of Ellie’s, so singularly deep. She seems to be nearby, probably somewhere in the back.

“I’m not complaining. I just wasn’t expecting you to come, that’s all.” She sounds on the edge, distracted. Tatiana’s curiosity builds up, forever insatiable. She has always been an incorrigible eavesdropper, catching and sewing together scattered fragments of hushed conversations.

“Well, I’m sorry for driving a ton of people to see your exhibition. Won’t do it again,” the other voice scoffs.

Tatiana turns to look for the pair, finding Ellie once more with the checkered-dress woman. There seems to be some unspoken grief between them, but catching Ellie’s glance, she turns her head away.

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