Page 11 of The Top of Admiration
I punished myself for the rest of the walk for blowing yet another chance to charm the girl of my dreams. I sometimes felt bad for actively hitting on a taken woman, but her Camwas an immature dick. I liked to think I’d back off if he was a good guy and treated her well but honestly, I don’t know that I would have. The heart wants what it wants. I’d never cheat with anyone, but if I won her fair and square, and she was clear of that guy, then to the victor go the spoils.
While sitting at the table eating a quick dinner, I took out my phone and googled appropriate gifts to give an artist at their first show. I’d already bought her flowers, so that knocked out that possibility. Most results suggested flowers or art supplies. I had no idea what supplies she used. I’d seen her paintings, but I didn’t know anything about art.
I jumped on a local art supply website and found the perfect gift. For this, I needed Mom’s help.
Chapter 9: Miranda — Fork in the road
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Henry V, William Shakespeare
I was so nervous! I had one piece in this show, but my boss Leticia insisted that I be part of the show. The theme was “endurance,” and she felt that one of my concepts would be perfect for it. I’d shown her my sketches, and she insisted that the painting I’d planned to create for my parents’ anniversary was totally on theme.
It was called Sunset Vows, and it was centered on my parents holding hands in front of a sunset. They had their backs to the viewer. On one side of them was two Japanese maple trees, twisted together as though they had entwined early in their growth. They represented Juliet and her husband Seamus, who had the grace and centeredness associated with that tree.
On the other side was Cordy and Damon, represented by entwined birch and cedar trees. Cordy was birch, calm and adaptable, while Damon was cedar, strong and guiding. Of all the elements of the painting, I struggled most with mine and Cam’s. In the end, I’d painted myself as a willow tree, which was thought to symbolize creativity and the ability to bend, not break. Cam was a difficult one. Sometimes I thought of him as aggressive ivy, growing all over its host, weakening the tree’s stability under the guise of being close. Like his physical presence equaled support and love. The very thought had me questioning my relationship with him, but I told myself it wasjust because I was so angry with him at the time I drew the sketch.
In the end, I let my tree stand alone. Cam wouldn’t understand the symbolism, and it felt dishonest to put a tree next to mine when I felt like I was growing alone. The painting looked fine without it. Two trees on one side and four on the other would create imbalance anyway, I reasoned.
The painting was already installed when I got there, but I kept needing to make sure it was there. My work was finally on display, almost like I was a real artist rather than the girl who spent her time doodling and painting with no real audience or plan.
“You really have a unique eye, Miranda,” Leticia praised, stopping to stand beside me. “I’m so proud of you. I’d love to keep you forever, but I sense bigger things for you.” She smiled. I loved my work, and I loved Leticia. She was the perfect mentor. She was encouraging and couched her criticism with warm words and gentle suggestions. By “bigger things,” I know she was referring to the Artist’s Retreat near Lyon, France. She really wanted me to apply. It was expensive, but that wasn’t the real reason I kept putting her off. It was three months in another country, away from Cam and my family. When I fobbed her off with the “cost” excuse, she said I would more than qualify for a scholarship through the Arts Council. We’d left it at me saying, “I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks Letty. I’m so nervous!”
“Well, if I know the Bards, you’ll have a huge cheer squad here to support you. And if you do hear criticism, just remember that it’s how we improve and grow as artists. Besides, you create your art for you and to share a message, not to please others. We’ve hadsome well-known artists here whose style I haven’t personally liked, but who were successful anyway.”
I nodded. Very wise words. Leticia wandered off, warning me that she was closing the gallery in minutes. I wasn’t really needed here tonight anyway. I was here to settle my nerves. A buzz sounded from my phone.
Cam: All set for my flight tomorrow afternoon. Will see you at your show. Can’t wait to hug you, little Picasso. I’m so proud of you!
Me: Thanks! Letty is amazing, but she brought up the retreat again. I’m thinking I should go.
Cam: Awww, I’d miss you too much babe. And what would it really give you? You’re already an amazing artist. You don’t need those cheese-eaters’ opinions.
Me: Right. Ok. I feel so nervous!
Cam: You’ll be a hit. Someone will buy that for sure! And I’ll be there to punch anyone who is mean.
I wished I could laugh at that but it was something he probably would do. As much as I liked to have fun, I knew how to behave in professional settings. Cam had embarrassed me at the Christmas party two years ago and Leticia had never forgotten it. She was polite to him the very few times he dropped in, but that woman could hold a grudge like it was an Olympic sport. It was just easier to keep those parts of my life separate.
Christmas music was playing softly in the background, and Cam was drunk, with a Santa hat hanging half off his head. I was furious. I told him this wasn’t a get-as-drunk-as-you can Christmas party like his had been. This was full of serious people. Some guest artists had joined us at Leticia’s invitation.
Leticia was chatting to me and Lucas, the senior curator, about a grant that would be open for applications next month.
“I think this is a great opportunity for us to move beyond modern art into something more classic. There’s no reason we have to restrict ourselves to one style.”
“I completely agree. I’ve been reading—” I was interrupted by Cam, who draped his arm across the very stiff Lucas’s shoulders.
“What’s happening my little paintbrush?” He was staring at me with a huge drunk smile plastered on his face.
“We’re discussing the grant program Cam. Maybe you should go and make a tea.” I suggested, signaling my rage to him with my eyes.
“Tea? It’s Christmas, Miranda! Geez, so serious all of a sudden.” He rolled his eyes at Lucas, who returned the gesture with a look of pure disgust.
“Hey, remember that time I sang about art at Cody’s Bar? I could sing at one of your functions.”
“You sang outside Cody’s Bar. You were asked to leave,” I whispered viciously to him.
