Page 61 of Love Deep
“It’s really good to meet you,” Grace says. “I’m thrilled that I’m going to get to see more of your work. If I’m not mistaken, the lodge I’m staying in has a piece of yours in the dining room.”
“Maybe,” I say. “I’m not sure where Rosalind decided to put them all.”
“They bought a lot, right?” Grace asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Byron’s a friend and?—”
“But Byron didn’t decide to buy them,” Fisher interrupts. “His designer did.”
“They work perfectly in the space from an aesthetic perspective. Though they’re not just decorative. You have a very painterly style. But you didn’t go to art school, did you?”
I shake my head. “No. No art school.”
“But you got accepted at art school,” Fisher interrupts, like he’s my full-time PR person.
“I had personal things that kept me from accepting,” I explain.
Grace nods and steps toward the work I have set up on the easel.
“I’ve just finished thispiece.”
“I love the way you use the light. Who would you say influences your work? I see lots of Turner. Or am I imagining that?”
My body flushes cold and then hot. I feel like I’m under the spotlight. No one’s ever seen the Turner influence in my work apart from my old art teacher, who was obsessed with the British romantic painter from the end of the eighteenth century. “He’s my favorite painter,” I confess. “I’ve always wanted to see something of his, like for real, but you know…”
“Bizarrely, you know that Indianapolis is the best place to go to see Turner’s work in the US?” Grace asks.
I nod. “At the Museum of Art, or the Yale Center for British Art in Connecticut.” I switch my weight from foot to foot. “I actually got the book from the Yale Center for Christmas when I was in my early twenties. It has a lot of the paintings in there. I have a couple of other books too…” I take a breath. “But seeing it? I’d just love to see the texture. That’s something that’s important to me in my work. The texture, and I’m experimenting on ways of using multimedia to build on that textural feel. I don’t want to stray too far into that, but I like the way some fabrics look when I incorporate them into a piece.”
“Do you have anything you can show me?” Grace asks.
I hesitate. I don’t show many people my unfinished work. Of course, Riley sees all my stuff. My mom has lost interest in my painting. And my friends have their own lives. No one comes into this studio apart from me and Riley.
“Okay,” I say. “I have a few pieces that the Club didn’t want because they were too dark. Then I did a few portraits but abandoned them. I’m not good at people. And I have a couple of pieces I’m working on, but they’re not finished.”Fisher’s voice is in my head, telling me I’m great, but all I can see is some girl who didn’t go to art school, who paints around her job and life as a mother. I’m not an artist. Not really. “Oh, and I have a few pieces at home hanging up, but I didn’t think to bring them.”
“I’m excited to see everything.” Grace is warm and encouraging and not what I expected. I thought she’d be far snootier.
I take another breath, feeling a little more relaxed. Grace seems to like the work, and the fact that she sees the Turner influence is… well, I’m so incredibly flattered.
I bring out two canvases I’m still working on and pull off the sheets from the ones that weren’t sold to the Club but remain propped up against the cupboards and walls of the store.
“These are pieces of linen.” I indicate to one of the pieces I’m working on at the moment. There’s a section at the bottom of the canvas that’s raised and lumpy. “I didn’t want it to overwhelm the work, but I wanted a more textural feel. Using the linen is a symbol of how the human race can harness nature and make it stronger. How we can work in harmony with the landscape around us. I’ve also used some of the…”
I pause, I’m not quite sure how Grace will take my confession, but she might as well know all of it, now that she’s here.
“I used some of the earth from the mountain. I dried it out and mixed it with my paint. I tried to match the color of the earth at first, and then I moved up and mixed in some green and blues, but still tried to make them earthy. I don’t know if that makes sense? Anyway, I was trying to take the physical parts of nature and make them part of the work. That’s what gives the painting texture. I wanted tocapture nature physically as well as pictorially. You know?”
Grace nods as she examines the work. “I love this direction you’re going in, Juniper. You’re a very talented painter.”
“It’s a hobby, really,” I say, not quite knowing how to take her praise.
“Do you have ambitions to make it your career?” she asks, straightening and looking at me.
“I certainly did, when I was younger. I wanted to be an artist. I was obsessed with Turner and Rothko and Valasquez, like my friends were obsessed with Rihanna or Justin Timberlake.”
“Youarean artist, Juniper.”
The tips of my ears burn hot. I’m not an artist. “I’m a teaching assistant. I just paint in my spare time.”
