Triptych
Thirty-two
THIS WAS A WEEK when I needed to accomplish great things. It was the last week before classes started at SCU and I’d be tied up in freshman orientation for a good part of it. But I’d never had so many canvases started and unfinished. I decided I was going to have to move my work to the new studio and set regular times there to really work. I had an exhibition coming up and suddenly four or five months didn’t seem like any time at all.
I was up early on Monday morning so I could get moved and start painting, but Melody was up way before I was. I must have been sleeping pretty soundly. When I woke up, Lissa was cuddled up to me, but no Melody. I wandered out into the kitchen where she was staring at her computer screen.
“What got you up so early?” I asked, kissing her on top of her head.
“Singapore.”
Her one-word answer was so flat that I thought something must have gone terribly wrong with our order of merchandise.
“What is it, darling?” I asked. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Sorry. I’m so sleepy. They called an hour and a half ago. They’re upset that they have to stay up so late at night to talk to us early in the morning. Did you know it’s almost tomorrow there?” she asked.
“Oh. Well at least it’s not bad news.”
“No. Actually it’s good news. The first hundred outfits are ready to ship.”
“That’s wonderful!” I said. I handed her a cup of coffee and started my own. The coffee hadn’t dripped down yet when Lissa looked into the kitchen.
“What’s wonderful?” she asked. “Coffee?”
I handed her the cup I’d just brewed and started a third.
“Outfits are shipping,” Melody said.
“Oh good!”
“I just paid $1,260 out of our account.”
“Ouch.”
“Are we going to make anything when we sell these?” I asked.
“Our margin is only about 30%,” Lissa said. “It’s not enough to wholesale them to regular retail outlets, so we’re limited to what we can sell at events and online.”
“It’s the damn shipping and customs,” Melody complained, holding her head. “We ship fabric here and dye it. We ship the fabric to Singapore. They pay customs to get the fabric. We ship outfits back here. We pay customs to get the outfits. We have to find a way to manufacture in the U.S.”
“Mommy! Meddy! Tony!” shouted two little balls of daylight energy careening around the corner of the hallway into the kitchen.
“Morning, kiddos!”
“You two need to get showered and ready for school and your move while I feed and water the urchins,” Lissa laughed.
“May I help?” Wendy asked as she approached the kitchen in the wake of the boys.
“With the shower or children?” I asked.
Wendy stammered and looked at the floor.
“Well… uh… if you want…”
“He was kidding, Wendy,” Melody said. She kissed the older girl on the cheek and the two of us headed toward the bedroom. “He has to wake me up so I can go to class. Have a cup of coffee. I’m sure Lissa could use your help.”
“Yes, Melody,” Wendy said. I noticed she didn’t raise her head.
The shower, however, was a great way to start the day. Lissa managed to catch us just before we got out and it got even better. We were all more relaxed and ready for the day when we finally got dried off.
Tuesday morning was a repeat, less the call from Singapore. This time, however, Melody and I both had to scramble to get to school. I dropped her off at PCAD for her morning class and went to my first day of orientation at SCU.
The first hour was spent shuffling around the gym picking up our kits, information on events and clubs, looking at school logo clothing, being greeted by the welcoming committee, putting on nametags, trying to identify others in the same program, and generally trying not to look like fish out of water while we drank coffee and ate donuts.
I was shocked to pass a table and see myself staring back at me. A second later I realized I was standing in front of a club table advertising the new racquetball club and Bree was sitting in front of me.
“You just going to stare at yourself or are you going to help me recruit players?” Bree asked.
“Hey!” I said. Man, that was intelligent. “You… it surprised me. Do I really need to be the focal point?”
It was really a good action shot and I wasn’t sure where Bree had found it or when she’d managed to take it. It was about three feet tall and had a caption that read, “Join Intercollegiate Bronze Medalist Tony Ames on SCU’s New Competitive Racquetball Team.”
“I had to have this one done at Staples yesterday,” Bree said. “The life-size cut-out isn’t ready yet.”
I looked at her. I’m sure horror was stitched on my face.
“Gotcha!” she smiled. “The photo isn’t high enough resolution for a cut-out. I want a really good one from Opens. Now here, sign it so everyone can see. We’re beginning to get a crowd.”
She handed me a Sharpie and I self-consciously scrawled my name across the poster. Half a dozen on-lookers applauded. We might have drawn a crowd if they hadn’t announced that it was time to move on to the auditorium for presentations.
I did see Jason Roe and exchanged a few words. He’s the only other PCAD student I recognized. We’d been in the same Visual Concepts class and he was planning to do his double degree in Advertising Graphics—like Amy—and Business. We didn’t have a chance to talk much more as we were conducted across campus to the auditorium for the start of orientation.
We listened to the President of the University and the Dean of Students, the Student Body President, and a representative from Student Services. The afternoon was scheduled with presentations about student loans, scholarship, academic requirements, and other stuff, but I wasn’t going to be there for most of it. I had class to go to at PCAD followed by racquetball practice at the club.
At lunch, there were tables that matched a number on our name badges, so we grabbed food from the buffet and sat with other people who had been preselected as having similar interests or majors.
“Hi, Tony. I’m Ric Ye,” the table host said as I sat down.
“I’m Joo-Eun Kim,” said a smiling woman next to him.
“We’re orientation hosts for the Literature cohort,” Ric continued. “Have a seat and we’ll get everyone introduced as soon as the table’s full.” In SCU parlance, a cohort was a group of people with a common interest who were put together for mutual support. There’d probably be a joint project sometime during the year.
Of course, not everyone showed up or got introduced, but that didn’t stop Ric. Neither he nor Joo-Eun had a trace of an accent, but Ric talked so fast that sometimes I missed part of what he was saying.
“It’s unusual for the school to allow a couple to take on a cohort for mentoring,” he said. Ah. Staking out his claim so we all understood Joo-Eun was not available. Well… I guess maybe so I understood. Everyone else at the table was female. Literature majors. Maybe he was telling them that he wasn’t available. Yeah. That made more sense.
“So you don’t have to ask, Ric is Chinese-American and I’m Korean American,” Joo-Eun said. “In spite of our funny names, we’ve lived in this country longer than most of you have.” Laughs. “So to make it easier on you, we’ve got different nametags.” She produced new nametags that said, “Rick” and “June.”
“Now let’s find out a little about each of you,” Rick said.
We introduced ourselves with a little about our background. I hate this kind of thing. Do I tell people I’m doing a double degree? That I’m a racquetball player? That I paint pictures? That I’ve got two wives and a girlfriend? I just stuck to the basics when it came my turn.
“Tony Ames from Nebraska. I’m an English Major with emphasis in Art and Literary Criticism.”
Rick and June continued to explain what would happen during the rest of the day.
“Rick, is there a way I can pick up what goes on today without attending?”
“You should be here for the full day,” Rick said.
“I have class this afternoon. In fact, I need to leave now or Doc will be upset I’m not there.”
“Classes don’t start until Monday.”
Okay. Out with it, coward. I took a deep breath.
“I only gave part of my intro,” I said. “I’m on a double degree program and attend classes at both SCU and Pacific College of the Arts and Design where I major in Studio Art with an emphasis in painting. Classes at PCAD started the day after Labor Day. And I might as well tell you that I play on the school’s new racquetball team and currently have practice every afternoon after class.”
“You’re the guy on the poster, aren’t you,” observed a rather round and bubbly blonde who’d introduced herself as Rio. She reminded me of Beth back in the old days.
“Yeah. I’m that guy.”
“Well, don’t let us hold you up,” Rick said. “But you really need to come back for the mixer this evening. We’ll be looking for you.”
“So will I,” Rio said.
Doc had us drawing big and fast. We used sheets of newsprint and chalk or charcoal. He threw two dozen different subjects at us, including a conch shell, a model in several poses, drapery, a complex still life, and a dog who wouldn’t stay still. We had 45 seconds for each drawing, flipped the page while he changed scenes, and drew again.
I liked this exercise and could see the progress of my drawings from vague outlines directly to the focal points of each scene. During the process, Doc walked behind us as we drew. It was the first time he’d looked at anything we were doing. Occasionally he would shout something like “Big. Draw big.” His assistant and model had apparently been well-schooled in exactly which scene was to be set next and we were all exhausted at the end of half an hour.
“Composition,” Doc said as he began to lecture, “is not done on the dais. It is done in your mind. Leaf through your drawings. You probably see some improvement as you progressed through the exercise. But this exercise is not simply about improving your drawing. It is about composition. We have a large room, so go stake out an area where you can tack your drawings to the wall in front of you or lay them out on the floor.” We moved to find different places where we could spread out. Twenty 2x3-foot drawings take up a lot of space and I was longing to take them back to my new studio where I could tack them all to the walls and look at them.
“Now set up your easel and create a single composition from these drawings. Visualize them in one setting. Where would each piece be placed? How would the models be positioned? Draw!”
Wow! I could see the scene taking shape. The fruit bowl and wine would be over there, the man would sit here. He would contemplate the shell while the dog looked on curiously. I closed my eyes and saw the pieces come together and then I began to draw.
In a way, it’s what I do all the time, but I’ve been doing it subconsciously. When I painted Rhapsody Suite, I’d switched the positions of Melody and Bree. I’d also lifted Lissa’s chin, changed her focus and even added a shadowy figure in the hall, seen through the open doorway. I’d created the light source and changed the shadow and colors to match. But I’d done it in a trance. Now I was consciously organizing disparate objects in my head and assembling them on paper.
I drew.
Half an hour later, Doc sent us out on a break. What greeted us on our return was a fully assembled scene on the podium. It didn’t take any further instruction. We fell to our easels and drew like crazy. We were enthusiastic, excited, and, by the end of the second hour, we were exhausted.
“I’m so tired!” Kate said.
“Let’s go get a Coke before I go to practice,” I said, taking her hand.
“I can’t. I have to go to the projects lab. I have to get my project finished by Friday night and I’m way behind.”
“Aw…”
“I do have time for this,” she said as she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a long luxurious don’t-wake-me-I’m-dreaming kiss. Then she punctuated it with a quick peck and ran off to her lab.
I went on down to the cafeteria and met Melody and we walked over to the club. We’d started practicing on both Tuesday and Thursday after class, though I wasn’t sure how that was going to work when I started having real homework and racquet club practice in the evening. It was the first day of orientation and already I was feeling like I was falling behind. Not again. Geez!
Lissa and I worked hard, but with nowhere near the intensity that we played last week. Neither of us were willing to make teasing and denial a part of our normal routine, though it was looking like it might pay off at Opens. We sat on the floor of the court for ten minutes before we went home while I bitched about life and got zero sympathy in return.
“And then they want me to come back for some stupid mixer tonight. Meet the other freshmen. Freshmen! I’ve already been through this once!”
“Maybe you can help somebody else,” Lissa said. “What happened at the event last year at PCAD? You must have had some kind of mixer during orientation.”
“I didn’t go.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
“Shit.”
“Go to the mixer tonight. In fact, treat yourself to dinner if there isn’t one at the school and then go. Don’t come home in between. Just take your time in the shower and tub here at the club and then go have fun. I’ll swing by and pick up Melody and we’ll entertain the boys tonight.”
“Do I have to?”
“Oh! Hi, Tony. Are you Drew’s little brother?”
We broke up laughing.
“I’ve been taking lessons from Melody,” I chuckled as we headed for the door.
“Oh no. You missed the punchline if you are going to imitate Melody.”
“Right. Do I have to? I’m horny,” I whined.
“Go! Get out of here and don’t forget you’ve got two horny wives waiting for you at home when the party’s over,” Lissa laughed.
I went.
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