Page 24 of Room 13: Bred By the Bears

We walked like that out of the café and down to the parking garage, Ryker a step ahead of us, standing sentry at every crosswalk to ensure no one could approach from either side. I’d never experienced that level of safety.

It was a brief, albeit surprising ride to Pier 90. Ryker was world famous. He had his pick of commissions. More than likely he’d never want for work. And yet, he existed in a pauper’s studio. It was a dingy, moderately lit, space that had the stink of old sea.

“I don’t know why he loves this space.” Obi held out his hand so I could traverse over the strewn pieces of rough metal. “He has a gorgeous studio in Bogue Chitto. Yet here we are.” He raised his arms in feigned exasperation. “Hope your tetanus is up to date.”

What the space lacked in style it had in unending space. Which Ryker had filled to the brim with pieces. Amazing, emotive pieces that overtook every available inch of floor space.

“How on earth? Do you ever sleep?”

I asked as Ryker lifted what looked based on the sheer size of the piece to be very heavy conflagration of roughly hewn metal and place it on a viewing hook. The four of us were together nearly every night. Forhours. I think Club Sin was going to upgrade me to a fingerprint entrance we’d spent so much time there over the last few weeks. Yet, the amount of art that existed in the space had to have takenmonthsto create not a few weeks.

The piece he rigged for us to look at was stunning. Beyond so. A lyrical twist of varying shades of metal that made it look like a setting sun. The braided metal, tied and manipulated in such a way that it looked like it moved. That while we stood there, gaping in awe at the sheer talent Ryker possessed, that piece of art would move from setting sun to darkness.

“Ryker, holy shit.”

How do you tell someone capable of such beauty what you thought of their work? What word could even stand up against the weight of their talent. Even Obi, who’d known Ryker much longer than me, stood next to me equally as tongue tied.

“Is this a personal piece?” I asked. No way would he have something this intense hang in a hotel. My client or not. Itfelttoo significant to be half ignored in a hotel reception area or hung over the fireplace in the grand dining room.

“Of course not.” He huffed, wiping some imperfection with a rag. “It’s for the hotel. I thought it would go well in their main ballroom.”

I would never get used to that. The cavalier way an artist like Ryker could look at a work of art that sprung from their hands as an extension of themselves and discuss it with an air of detachment.

“Look, I’m not trying to discourage you from delivering what you’re contractually obligated to provide, but don’t you have less amazing pieces you can give them? This one is…”

“Pet, what is art if not a reflection of how Ryker sees the world put on display for others to see.” Obi wrapped his arm around my waist and drew me to his shoulder. I felt oddly comforted though I didn’t know why I needed to be comforted at all. They weren’t even my pieces. “To hold them back would take away the common person’s ability to experience transcendence.”

Though, most common people could not stay at a six hundred dollar a night hotel. Ryker’s pieces belonged in a museum. Where millions could see them and experience their beauty. But that was a conversation for another time, and for a point in my life when I wasn’t getting paid by the person purchasing the art.

Ryker went through a rotation of similar pieces. Each more stunning than the last. Every one turning my insides into a maelstrom of emotions from awe, to serenity.

“I haven’t yet decided what to do with this one.” Ryker hauled a covered piece onto his viewing mount. “I’m calling it,Muse.”

While I was not an expert in art by any means, I’d been studying Trygg the artist foryears. Nearly every piece he’d ever created, except for a few that hung in Berlin and Amsterdam, I’d seen up close and in person.Nothinglooked like Muse. First, she was more than double the size of any piece he’d created. Nearly the size of a picture window on an average American four-square house. And she glistened. There were hundreds of variances in the metal he used. Some were deep hued golds, others bright coppers and subdued browns. The strands were so fine, I nearly tricked myself into thinking they’d be soft and pliant like strands of fabric. That’s how much movement the piece had.

“You need to stand back here.” Obi took hold of my shoulders and brought me further back in the space so I could take in the full eight-foot width of the piece.

“Holy crap, it looks like—”

“You,” Obi finished for me. “It looks like you.”

fifteen

Miele wasn’t wrong.I’d barely slept since meeting her. But not in a stressed out, unhinged, weighed down by anxiety way. I left Club Sin after our sessions feeling invigorated. Thrumming with unspent energy and a brain that churned out ideas for pieces faster than I could rough sketch them into my notebook. It was a constant stream I couldn’t turn off. As I worked, more ideas filled the spaces of the ones cleared out through production.

When I slept, I dreamt about new ways to work my metal, so it looked exactly how I wanted it. I’d yet to have a moment of frustration. Not a single instance where I’d started working with the metal and it didn’t turn out the way I wanted. Inexplicably I’d becomeonewith my art in the most satisfying and expressive way. And the ideas just kept coming.

Watching Miele gape at the piece I’d made caused something deep inside of me to spring to life. A piece of me that had lay dormant for too many years. Ever since it materialized, so too had these new ideas. With those sprung multiple paths to take my art to new heights, levels of difficulty, and ways to twist and manipulate the metal I worked with. I never wanted to stop.

Sure, I was tired, but it was a different exhaustion. It was exhilaration. Like competing in back-to-back Iron Man’s and not giving my body the time to rest. I would. Soon. Once the pieces for the hotel were complete and I could focus on creating for creation’s sake.

“What do you think of all of us coming with you to Troublesome Creek?” I asked, surprising myself with the question. “I think by next week I’ll have the commissioned pieces finished. And seeing our friends, spending a few days justexistingsounds like the exact vacation we all need.”

Her back was to me as she continued to studyMuse. The silence lasted for way too long. Did she not like it? I looked to Obi to see if he had a better feel for her thoughts, but he just shrugged at me.

“Hey.” I approached her from behind, wrapping her in a hug before resting my chin on her shoulder. “Piece of discarded copper for your thoughts?”

I picked a piece of scrap off the table, waving it in front of her. At least that earned me a huff of laughter. She took it from my hands and spun it between her fingers, as if examining it from all sides.

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