Mural
Fourteen
I DON’T KNOW if they intentionally situated an art school near an art supply store or if the store saw a ready market and opened nearby. I know the store has been there a long time and I was a frequent customer. Most of my student loan probably found its way into their cash register. I justified it by saying it was all an investment in my future career, so I didn’t buy cheap stuff. I’d watched Doc Henredon painting for long enough to identify the kinds of brushes he used and I walked out of the store with one hog bristle and three sable brushes and about $120 poorer. I ran by the dorm and picked up my art box and sketchbook as well. I didn’t buy brushes that I already had.
It was nearly six o’clock when I got back to the hall and before I’d set up to start painting, I heard the soft chime of Doc’s cell phone alarm.
“Let’s take a break,” he said after a couple of minutes spent finishing a stroke. About two minutes later a pizza delivery guy showed up with three boxes and a carton of Cokes. We all dug in and Doc asked to see the brushes I’d brought back. He nodded his approval and gave me a couple of tips about how to use each one. He wasn’t at all upset that I hadn’t started putting paint on the wall yet and walked over to look at the adjustments I’d made on the sketch.
“This is good. Is she really that beautiful?” I was surprised by the question.
“Yes, sir. I mean you saw her when you did the rendering, right? She’s incredible.”
“No. If I’d seen her, I’d have fallen in love. I used one of your sketches that Professor McIntyre gave me to put in the pose.”
I was a little startled. I thought he’d stepped into the studio while I was sketching and did a sketch as well. I would never have known.
“Kate, I need the scale drawing,” Doc called. I was closer, but Kate came from one end of the hall to the other to walk past us and pick up the drawing about ten feet away. She had a scowl on her face as Doc turned before she got back and walked back to where I’d been working. I heard a bit of a huffy sigh behind me as Kate followed along. Robert was totally absorbed in a phone conversation down the hall, but when he saw the three of us walking toward him he hung up and came to meet us. Doc took the sketch from Kate.
“My god! Look what you did to this sketch!” Doc yelled. All three of us jumped back from him. I started to apologize but he waved me to silence. “Look! All three of you. Here is the drawing I did based on Tony’s original sketch. It’s a generation removed from the original. Look at what he has drawn on the wall. This is what ‘an artist falling in love with his model’ means.”
“Tony?” Kate looked at me strangely.
“Yes, yes,” Doc said. “I did not draw from the model. I drew from his sketch. My drawing is technically correct but lifeless. Tony has drawn this model and I would guess has even painted her.” I nodded. “Look at the eyes. It is not only how the artist sees the model; it is how she sees him.”
All three of us just stood there staring. I think Doc was giving me a compliment. Kate was sneaking sidelong glances over at me and then up at the sketch on the wall. I’m not sure Robert had tuned into the fact that Doc was speaking. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out he was high.
“Tony, don’t paint her tonight. It’s no good to start right after you’ve been praised or criticized. I hate doing it myself. Someone comes up and talks about all the wonderful things I’ve done and I can’t paint a single decent stroke afterward. Spend a couple of hours doing drapery. Learn how your brushes feel and the texture of the paint. Come back tomorrow morning and start fresh on your lover.” This was really freaky. Could he possibly know that Lissa was one of my two very precious girlfriends? Or was he just talking about the metaphysical connection between artist and model.
“Um… call said noon tomorrow.”
“If you prefer. It is Sunday. This is my sanctuary. I will be here at 8:00. Come when you wish.”
Robert wandered back down the hall to where he was doing texture painting. Kate stood there looking at the scaled sketch and the drawing on the mural for a minute, then took the sketch back to Doc’s easel. As she walked by me on her way to do more background, she turned to look at me. She made one of those gestures that people do to look threatening, but for her it looked more like a hint of expectation. She pointed two fingers at her eyes and then pointed them at me. It’s the old, ‘I’m watching you’ gesture.
Two hours later, I’d laid in most of the surrounding drapery and worked various highlights and shadows in to make them look almost like deep blue velvet. It took a while to get used to the new brushes and to accomplish wet blending the way I wanted it. I wasn’t really satisfied with it. I always loved painting drapery, whether it was hanging from a window or just folds in people’s clothes. In a way, I even thought of skin as being draped on the skeleton and muscles, so it was a kind of drapery, too. But these looked isolated and mechanical. One fold of fabric was completely disconnected from the next. It just didn’t look right to me. I was getting frustrated.
“You started earlier than the others today,” Doc said. I jumped at his voice behind me. It was about 10:30. “You should get some sleep. You can redo this tomorrow.”
Redo it. He could see that it sucked, too. What was I going to do? I knew while I was painting that he’d be judging the quality of my finished work, and I was acutely aware that Kate kept glancing at me. I knew what was missing, but I just wasn’t able to get into the zone like I had while I was sketching.
“Doc, would you mind if I brought a headset with me tomorrow? I like to block out distractions with music.”
“Eh?” He pulled an earplug out of one ear and showed it to me. Smiling he said, “Do what you need to do.”
I gathered up my things, cleaned my brushes and palette, and headed back to my dorm. What I needed to do was sleep in the arms of Lissa and Melody. But I wasn’t about to interrupt their girlfriend time. I’d selfishly had Lissa to myself without a thought about Melody on Wednesday and the two of them deserved time together. I did send them a “night love u” text message.
I lay in my bed—alone—and kept thinking about the painting. I could see Lissa in that position. I knew every contour and every shadow. But every time I saw the painting in my mind’s eye, it was wrong. I grabbed my sketchbook and started leafing through all the pictures. I even looked at the painting of Melody that I’d completed when I thought I was working ahead for class. Just looking at her eyes and the way she was smiling at me was almost too much to bear. She was so beautiful I thought my heart would break.
I looked at the many sketches I did of Lissa. Some of them were from class during the marathon drawing session on Friday. Some were from that weekend at her house. Some were of the poses that she did for Melody and some for me. Then I found one that always made me smile. It was the first drawing of her at her house, just after Melody and I made love to Lissa the first time. She was lying back on the daybed with the drapes gathered around her and that perfectly sated smile on her lips. Melody had all but passed out, kneeling on the floor beside her with her head and arm draped across Lissa’s stomach. I’d just stood up and when I saw them I whispered, “Wait. Don’t move.” I’d done a hurried sketch, but it was my favorite among them all.
I didn’t hand that one in. For my formal sketch—the one Doc used for the mural—all I did was move Melody out of the picture. Lissa was in the same position. I thought maybe I’d have to do another pose for my final project in figure painting now that this one was being done in the mural.
I nodded off to sleep with the image of Lissa and Melody on my mind and dreamt of my two lovers together.
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