Page 34 of The Singing Trees
Emma’s body instantly relaxed, and Annalisa’s heart soared. Her grandmother could be so incredibly sweet when she wanted to be.
Annalisa took her around the house, pointing out her favorites of the pieces she’d done over the years. Either Emma was extremely impressed and interested or putting on a great act. The pieces featured most prominently in the living room were typically from the happier stages of her life. Though she’d never admit to it, Nonna tended to hang the more depressing paintings in less conspicuous spots, like above the toilet. Still, she did hang all of them, which meant something.
Once in Annalisa’s bedroom, she said to Emma, “This is my room and my studio. I like to paint outside when it’s warm, but this is where I am all winter.”
They both looked from right to left: the bed pushed as close as it could be to the closet and then her messy work space with an easel, chair, and a desk splattered with acrylic and cluttered with paint tubes, brushes, palette knives, and color studies.
Emma studied the pieces hanging on the wall, where Annalisa kept her latest works, including two nudes that were still drying. She quickly realized it might have been a good idea to take them down before having a fourteen-year-old enter the room. “Sorry, they might be a bit much for you.”
Emma blushed. “My mom would never let me paint these. Nonna doesn’t care?” The girl looked at the painting of a nude brunette stretched out on a yellow couch like it was an image of the Loch Ness Monster.
“I’m a little bit older,” Annalisa said. “This is part of learning. In fact, every art school has classes with live models who sit nude while you paint them. How about that?”
“No ...,” Emma said, with equal amounts of shock and excitement.
“Yes!” Annalisa loved this. Emma could be beautiful when she opened up.
Still staring at the brunette, she asked, “Have you had a class like that?”
“Not yet,” Annalisa admitted, thinking that the Mills would never offer such a class, even for adults. “But I’m sure I will one day. All these paintings are from books and my imagination. Do you want to paint something? Not a nude but anything you’d like.”
Emma finally pulled her eyes away. “Are you sure?”
“Why not?” Annalisa asked. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to teach you.”
“What would we paint?” Emma glanced over at the table of paints and brushes.
Annalisa crossed the room and waved Emma over. “I think abstracts might be the best way to start. The less thinking the better for now. Sometimes it’s fun just to see what comes out.”
Though Annalisa preferred painting on stretched canvas, their financial situation had steered her to heavyweight paper. As Emma sat, Annalisa handed her a smock and took a sheet of paper she’d already primed with gesso and clipped it to the easel. Very often, Annalisa sketched her paintings on a separate pad before mixing paints, but in this case she wanted to keep it simple.
For the next hour, she showed Emma the basics, starting with choosing a brush, applying a color wash, then mixing the paints to obtain the perfect color.
“Let go of any kind of rules for this one,” Annalisa coached her. “Just have fun. Nothing matters but finding colors you love and putting them on the page.”
“So anything?” Emma looked like she’d been set free for the first time in her life.
Annalisa handed her the brush. “There are absolutely no rules. Well, there is one today. Whatever you do, put your heart into it. But don’t worry about what comes out. Just enjoy the motions and fall into the spell.”
Emma shed the rest of her nervousness and started to find the meditative beauty of brushing colors across the paper. As the painting came alive in a blast of abstract shapes, the two fell into conversation.
Annalisa knew Emma had some heavy things to get off her chest, so she prodded her enough with her own story until the girl felt very comfortable speaking to her. Emma talked about her childhood first, and all her memories seemed to revolve around Thomas.
“I’m just glad he stuck around,” Emma said a few minutes later. “He wouldn’t ever admit it, but I know he stayed home for me.” Annalisa knew that to be true and was still impressed by his devotion to his sister. Using a fan brush, Emma dragged a streak of turquoise across the top corner of the page.
“Try a little lighter touch with that one,” Annalisa said, kneeling next to her. “Can I show you?” She took the brush and used a much more tender motion, the bristles mere feathers. Annalisa noticed Emma gravitated toward circular movements but wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Emma copied Annalisa’s technique as she let loose more of her inner world. “I don’t know what I would have done if he’d left me. Probably run away. My dad doesn’t like me, and my mom isn’t even awake half the time. You saw firsthand. Ever since she found out my dad was cheating, she’s been like that. I’m sure Thomas told you about it.”
“What? He didn’t, actually.” Annalisa was surprised, considering how much they’d shared with each other. Not that Mr.Barnes being a cheater shocked her.
“Yeah, a few years ago,” Emma said. “I came home sick one day, while my mom was out of town visiting her parents in New Hampshire. My dad walked out of his bedroom with another woman.”
Annalisa touched her arm. “That’s horrible.”
Emma kept painting, as if the act were as comforting to her as it was to Annalisa. “He tried to keep me from telling her, and I didn’t until about two years ago. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Annalisa’s mouth had fallen open in disgust. “And that’s why you say your dad doesn’t like you, because he didn’t have the guts to tell your mom himself?”
