Page 23 of Absorbed

“So, how exactly are we ‘escaping’ into these flowers?”

“Abstract art is about escaping reality while revealing universal truth.”

Stacey lifted one eyebrow and looked at her florals again. “I don’t get it.”

Ms. Moreno stood back and squinted, her right forefinger curled over her mauve lips. “Hmmm…”

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re too perfect, I think,” Ms. Moreno said.

Stacey cocked her head, searching for what Ms. Moreno saw. The flowers looked like roses, without being exact replicas. Wasn’t that what they were aiming for?

“They’re not very interesting to look at,” Ms. Moreno said.

Frustration flushed through Stacey. She’d done what she was supposed to, so why hadn’t it worked? She looked again, trying to understand what Ms. Moreno meant. Interesting or not, she’d achieved her goal of painting three roses. That should’ve been enough!

Ms. Moreno dipped a thick paintbrush in clean water and wet the area of her page around the blossoms. The flowers’ edges seeped into the water. Ms. Moreno swept the large brush through the paint, making wonky circles and broad strokes of pink around the blossoms. Working quickly, she dropped darker tones in the centers of some, straight yellow in the center of others. She grabbed a smaller brush and mixed blue with the yellow, dropping various tones of green around the pink blobs.

Foliage.Stacey was bewildered how easy it looked.

Just as with the original petals, Ms. Moreno left white spaces between each, but still allowed the leaves and flowers to touch in some spots so the colors would run.

“What do you think?” Ms. Moreno asked.

“It’s cool, but….“ Stacey tried to avoid grimacing. “It’s kinda out of control.” The intensity and chaos made Stacey uncomfortable.

“I agree! I love it. That’s exactly what the problem was before: it was way too controlled. I needed to let the painting be morefree.” She pulled the pencil from atop her head, wild curls falling around her face and thin shoulders. “Messy. Natural.”

Stacey knit her brow. “I don’t think that’s what I meant.” She looked past her teacher to the stack of palettes slathered with dried paint cluttering Ms. Moreno’s desk.

Ms. Moreno shrugged and grinned. “If there was a bush of perfect roses, or a wall covered in paintings of perfect roses, they all would become really boring. A real rose bush is beautiful because of all the stages of blossoming. The ones that stand out are uniquely imperfect. That is the feeling I wanted to capture.”

“Is it okay if I don’t want to do that on mine?” Stacey could hear the crack in her voice and hoped that Ms. Moreno didn’t notice.

“Sure, Stacey. It’s your painting! You should do what you want with your work.”

They cleaned up the supplies and rinsed out the brushes. Ms. Moreno asked, “Would you like a popsicle? I thought it would be a nice treat.”

“Sure.”

Ms. Moreno leaned down to the mini fridge beside her desk. As she walked back to Stacey, she pulled open the white pouch, and split the two sticks apart. “I hope you like cherry.”

Stacey smiled. “Thanks.”

Sitting on the butcher block table across from where their paintings were resting, they let their legs swing beneath them.

“I have so many happy memories of eating these growing up,” Ms. Moreno said.

Stacey nodded, licking the length of her popsicle.

“Isn’t it funny that you can’t imagine popsicles, or remember eating them, without thinking about them dripping?”

“Yeah! That’s so true. My mom has pictures of me when I was little with my face and bathing suit stained.”

“And I bet you had a huge smile.” Ms. Moreno wiped the back of her hand across her chin, a smear of cherry syrup striping her warm brown skin. She left it and continued nibbling.

“Of course.”

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