Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I stare at my professor. “What? Oh, uh … no.” I laugh suddenly. “I can’t call it that. Too nail-on-the-head. And it has an awful connotation. These pieces are about love and new friendship. Not heartache.”
“Are you sure? I see heartache in this painting. Do you notice how his back is turned to you? Just like in the other paintings, if I remember correctly. Or was he turned to the side in one? Never facing forward.”
I’ve painted so many, I can’t be sure. “Uh …”
“Also, do you see how brightly you’ve chosen to paint the sand? I feel hot, just looking at it. I feel intensity. I feel disturbed. These aren’t coincidences.”
“Professor …”
“No, no, don’t tell me too much. You spoil the artistic truth with too many words. Just let your heart tell the story. Allow the meaning to exist in the abstract. Don’t insult it with words or coax it away from something darker. Chase the truth, Mr. Ruiz, don’t hide it out of your own petty discomforts. Honesty is your greatest tool. That is how you shake the onlooker. That is what differentiates a pretty sunset from a raw, moving portrait. The canvas never lies.” He nods again, gives my work one last glance, then steps away. “Carry on, Mr. Ruiz.”
I stare at my painting, dumbfounded now.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I don’t see what it is he sees, even with Adrian’s back turned in all of the paintings. I see mystery. Intrigue. I see Adrian protecting himself from the label the island gave him. I see him protecting his heart. I see his beauty, his vulnerability, his exposure.
I don’t see heartache or darkness.
But the more Professor Lawrence’s words circle my skull, the more they nag me, digging into me, planting all of these unwelcome seeds of doubt.
The canvas never lies …
By the time I get back to the loft, I’m still stumped by my professor’s advice. Or guidance. Or whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Was that a hint? Am I supposed to dive all in with this weird “heartbreaker” angle instead of whatever enticing beauty was in my vision? If I don’t go in my professor’s direction, will I fail out of the summer program?
Why does it feel like I’m always trying to appease someone else’s taste instead of my own?
When can I just be myself in front of that easel?
I just sent a text to Adrian seeing if he was up for hanging tonight, or if he was being hung to dry at the restaurant. I pour myself a bowl of cereal, my phone sitting on the kitchen counter, then munch away as I stare down at my blank phone, waiting for his response.
A door creaks across the loft. I look up to find Alice padding across the room, barefoot, half-dressed, looking tired. “Hi, Quinny,” she calls out as she approaches, yanks open the fridge, and fetches herself a can of Sprite. After cracking it open and taking one long, loud slurp, she smiles at me. “Boyfriend coming over tonight?”
I smirk. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sure, and the chick I’m banging on the regular isn’t my girlfriend.” She slurps again, then comes up to the counter. “Hey, not to be weird, but are you gonna be able to make the next rent, do you think?”
I grimace. Time has been flying by, I lost track of time. Did I even properly thank her? “I appreciate you spotting half my rent last month, Alice, really, I do. I’ll pay you back once I figure something out with my job situation.”
“I know you’re good for it, don’t sweat.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Life as an artist ain’t easy. Life as an art student, even less so.” She eyes my phone, then smirks. “Just let me know if your boyfriend’s coming over tonight, or if he’s picking you up and taking you away. It’ll decide what Patty and I do.”
Patty. So that’s her name. “I will. As soon as he replies back.” I give my phone an impatient frown.
“I’ve known glaciers that move faster than you and this guy you can’t get enough of. Stop dragging your feet and just call a spade a spade.” She kicks back her Sprite again and rubs my shoulder with her other hand. “Also, we held a meeting, and we love the new direction of your art. Yes, we’ve all been peeking at your work.”
“Thanks.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “Apparently my all-knowing professor thinks I’m painting unrequited love on the beach. I don’t see it.”
She frowns. “Me neither. I just see horniness and a lot of sexy sunlight. Hey, but isn’t that the point of art? We all see something different. Maybe the professor hasn’t gotten over a past broken heart, and all he sees in your painting is something he never had. Who knows? But look at you.” She gives me a wink and a nudge. “Unlike your professor, you’ve got the man on the beach. Better tie that one down before he slips away. Yes, coming!” she shouts off at her bedroom, answering her girlfriend whom I guess I didn’t hear. “If you need help looking for a job, I can hook you up with something at the office supplies store.”