Page 147 of Give My Everything
This image is serene water with lapping waves and pebbled sand, pale blue skies with patchy clouds just barely hiding the sun, beams of light in reds and oranges and yellows shooting out from behind them.
The palettes are completely different, the emotions they evoke nowhere near the same. One is violent and angry and fearful. The other calm, peaceful, hopeful.
I’d love to show this to Melody at some point and see what she thinks, see if she would still encourage me to go to graduate school knowing my talent is swayed so severely by emotions. And honestly, I’m okay with knowing that.
I’m fine with accepting that what made me talented as an artist was the darkness that made me feel worthless and out of control. The world is filled with tortured artists. But I would choose how I feel now over artistic talent any day.
“That’s so beautiful.”
My head turns at the sound of Ben’s voice, and I can’t help but bite my lip at the sight before me.
He stands on the top step at the entrance to the art studio, leaning against the door frame, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His feet are bare, as is his chest.
I left him wearing slightly less than that when I crawled out of bed at six this morning, overwhelmed with emotion and needing to let it out somehow.
Spinning my chair fully around, I stand, stretching out my back, my arms lifting over my head. “It’s not even close to done yet, and I’m not sure I like it.”
Ben drops down the three steps and comes over to where I stand, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder, our faces side by side as he assesses my work from a closer vantage point.
“What don’t you like about it?”
I let out a long sigh, not really sure how to answer that. “I don’t know. It’s just…different.”
“Different, how?”
I place a kiss on his cheek and then step out of his embrace, walking over to the corner where my favorite canvases are neatly organized. Pulling out three, I lean them against the wall so they can all be seen.
“See?”
“See what? More examples of how talented you are?”
A little thrill rolls through me at knowing how much he likes my work, but I shove it aside.
“They’re completely different. You don’t see a theme?”
“Of course I see a theme,” he responds. “They’re darker. Moodier.”
“Better.”
He scoffs. “No, not better. I might not be an artist, so I will never be able to look at artwork and say what other people can or should value in a painting. Trust me, my mother was beyond irritated at my commentary when we went to a few art galleries together when I was a child.”
I can’t help but giggle at the image that conjures, a young Ben at a gallery pointing at things and being loud with Wyatt.
“But Remmy, you’re incredibly talented. Sure, you spent your college years working within one kind of theme, probably because that was the lens through which you viewed the world.” He walks over to the painting I started this morning, his eyes bright as he motions to it. “This painting? It’s gorgeous. It makes me feel calm and happy. Maybe that’s your new shift, you know? It’s just a little rebranding. Companies do it all the time.”
Rebranding. Huh. I never thought about it like that.
“Your art is a reflection of who you are,” he continues. “If you’re trying to see the world and your life differently, it only makes sense that your focus would shift, that you might adjust your lens. It doesn’t mean you’re losing yourtalent.”
I grin, appreciating the time he’s taking to be encouraging and supportive. “I love you.”
He smiles back at me. “I love you, too.”
Ben places a kiss on my lips, his hands framing my face, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around him, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against mine.
“I’m taking you on a date tonight,” he says. “So be ready at five for a bike ride.”
We pedal down The Strand at a leisurely pace on our date night, enjoying the late afternoon sun and cool breeze. It’s a Friday evening a little bit before sunset, so a lot of people are out and about, strolling, running, skateboarding, rollerblading, walking their dogs.
