Rhapsody Suite
Twenty-seven
MY LAST CLASS OF THE SEMESTER. Everyone else had another week to go, but Lissa and I would be leaving for Chicago Sunday. All my finals were done. My projects were in. My portfolio had been reviewed, and I was ready for summer… after I played my heart out at National Singles.
There was quite a buzz in our Studio class. I think everyone was feeling the onset of summer. We didn’t have a model as the class was working on finishing their final projects. Mine, of course, was painted on a wall in the admin building but I surprised Professor McIntyre with my new painting of Lissa in the bath. I liked it. The steam rising gave her an ethereal look. Melody and Kate were next to each other, supposedly painting, but frequently leaning in to whisper to each other. I kept sketching the two of them together on a small pad with an HB pencil. Everything is a muted gray when you use HB lead. I could give a quick flick with my thumb and a hard line would turn into a soft shadow. I loved how their faces looked together. One with soft English features and the other a more angular, exotic, but not quite Asian profile. Professor McIntyre was reviewing a student’s work on one side of the classroom when Maggie Wright spoke up from the other side.
“Professor, how do we enroll for the nude painting parties?” There was a big laugh from the nineteen women in the class as I tried to find a hole small enough to crawl into. I was even more surprised by Professor McIntyre’s response.
“Well, I understand that they are by private audition only, Miss Wright. And I might remind you that while your work during those sessions might be admitted for exhibition, the parties do not carry any academic credits.”
“I’m taking names of next semester’s candidates,” Melody said. “One criterion is that you have to be willing to have your ass immortalized on a school wall. And, of course, the artist will have to interview the ass in question.”
There was a riot of chatter and a number of voices yelling “Me. I want in.”
“I think that’s enough for today. In case you haven’t seen it, our student exhibition was reviewed in this morning’s Times. Some of you might be interested. There is a copy on the desk. Take whatever time you need to finish your project this morning, but officially, class is dismissed.”
The boys were excited, as well they should be. I was dressed in a tux and the boys each had a suit and tie on. I’d spent twenty minutes getting the little ties knotted. The three of us were escorting eight beautiful ladies to a gala opening tonight. I’d shown the boys pictures—fully clothed pictures, please—of all eight girls and let them choose which ones they wanted to escort. Each boy got two girls. Poor me. I’d be stuck with the other four.
I wasn’t surprised that Lissa and Melody were the first chosen with a little dispute over who got whom. Allison won third place and was awarded to Damon who still insisted she was his girlfriend. Drew chose the last from the pictures I showed him. I was surprised.
“Why did you choose that one, Drew?”
“Pretty,” was all the boy would say. Well, I had to agree.
The limo arrived that evening at seven and the six of us loaded in. Damon’s escorts were in the car, he having won Lissa and Allison. Drew got Meddy and accompanied me to the dormitory door to pick up his other date. When the girls came down, I introduced them.
“Ladies, this is Mr. Drew Wade. Drew has asked for the honor of escorting Miss Amy Garnet to the Gala this evening. Amy, would you join Meddy as Drew’s date this evening?”
“Why me?” Amy asked in surprise.
“Pretty,” Drew answered.
“Honey, you may be the only boy I ever accept a date with. May I have your hand?” The two held hands and went to the limo to join Lissa, Melody, and Allison. I turned to Sandra and Kate.
“Miss Wells. Miss Holsinger. I’m afraid that leaves just me to escort you. May I have the honor of your company?” They each hooked a hand through my arm and we went to the limo. We picked up Bree and Sonia next. Sadly, Wendy had to work and couldn’t come to the gala. The two cheerleaders were stunning. I escorted one on each arm to the limo and they hugged it like they’d never let me go. Bree stumbled a bit on the way to the car and I chided her about wearing heels that were too high for her. I explained that I would be escorting four ladies this evening and they needed to share. They were surprised that instead of Lissa and Melody they’d be joined by Kate and Sandra.
It was a little crowded in the limo with eleven of us, but Drew and Damon gladly took places on Allison and Melody’s laps and Bree and Kate both managed to sit partially on me with Sonia and Sandra cuddled in as closely as they could get.
The Student Exhibition Gala is the equivalent of a spring Cotillion at PCAD. It is an excuse for everyone to get dressed up and act sophisticated. Ours was by no means the only limo hired for the night.
The plan was to spend an hour or two at the gala, looking at the exhibits and acting sophisticated, drinking fruit punch and discussing the relative merits of this or that bit of art. Then we’d pile back in our limo, and go hit one of the clubs down on The Ave. Jack had volunteered to join us at the gala and collect the boys to go home when they started to get tired. I didn’t envy him the job because I could tell neither of them was going to be happy about leaving without his dates.
I wasn’t expecting the splash we’d make with our entrance. People noticed the eight beautiful women first, then the three men escorting them. Damon and Drew absolutely ate up the attention as nearly everyone from our Life Painting class descended on us with congratulations for stealing the show. I was prepared to thank people for appreciating the mural and just let it go at that, but there weren’t that many people in the hall looking at the mural. I couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about.
The admin building, with offices on the second floor, was also the building that housed the galleries and theaters. By having dance and theater performances in the same facility where art was exhibited, students got broader exposure to those who attended one event but wouldn’t have come to another. The gala, starting at 6:30 p.m. would be a preface to the dance recital at 8:30. Many people would go from one to the other.
Being in the admin building, I expected the mural to get a lot of attention. Now that it was finished, it was truly a beautiful piece and I felt good that my contribution didn’t stand out as being foreign to the work as a whole, no matter what Mr. Bowers’ letter to me had indicated. As expected, there was a small but steady stream of people outside the theater who walked the length of the mural in both directions and nodded their appreciation.
It was inside the gallery that the surprise was waiting. There was a good-sized crowd gathered around a group of paintings and drawings titled The Rhapsody Suite. My watercolor of a Parisian boudoir with nine naked women was at the center. Displayed around it were four slightly smaller pieces that were different treatments of a male surrounded by four females. It was easy to objectify the artworks. We were just males and females, not a close group of friends and lovers. Arranged on either side were works by other members of the Life Drawing/Painting class. They seemed to orbit around the central five.
Sandra’s brooding graphite piece on heavily textured Strathmore drawing paper captured the entire scene in highlights removed from the dark background. Melody captured a soft romantic scene in pastels on Grumbacher paper. I loved her style. She talked about not being a real artist and only being interested in textiles, but when she set her pastels on the page, it was stunning. Amy, of course, used markers on bright Bristol vellum and created an image out of the scene of five nudes that could have been used to sell baby oil if she wanted. It had a sense of whimsy that I found adorable.
As soon as I saw the fourth drawing, I could see why there was a crowd. It wasn’t just for my watercolor. Kate’s charcoal on soft gray paper was unlike anything in the exhibit. I looked myself in the eyes. She didn’t include the girls in her drawing. It was just me—my eyes, nose, and forehead. When I looked at myself, it was more revealing than looking in the mirror.
“We know the artist of this watercolor creates an intense connection with his models. Here we see not only the connection with the central character, but he leads us away from her to the shadowed figures in the background. They are the story that is told in this painting, though the connection with the central figure is as intense and moving as the connection in the mural.” I didn’t know who was speaking to the small group gathered in front of the suite, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say.
Lissa leaned in next to me and said, “That’s Bob Bowers.”
“But the surprise—” Mr. Bowers continued, “—the beauty that is unexpected—is here in this simple work of charcoal. There is nothing simple about the talent shown here. Where the work in the large piece shows the artist connected to every character in his painting, this smaller charcoal shows not only a connection, but understanding. Look in the eyes. The artist shares the shadows of her model’s heart. This is not only a portrait; it is a window into the soul. On their own, these are five fine pieces of art. As a suite, someone could own a legacy.”
I couldn’t have said it better. When I looked at my face in Kate’s charcoal drawing, I could see the depression, the hope, the love, and the doubt. Standing where I was, I could even see the artist—Kate—reflected in my eyes. Beneath the eyes were the shadowy shape of two fingers, pointing to them. “Look here,” they seemed to say.
I turned to Kate and kissed her on the cheek.
“Anytime you need a model, Kate,” I said. “Anytime at all.”
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
