Page 57 of All That We Are Together
At one point, that somber sky had been clear.
48
Axel
With Sam and Leah’s collaboration, getting the exhibition ready was easy. We worked tirelessly over the following days. My head stopped aching, maybe because I started wearing the glasses Leah thought were so funny more often, and I made sure every detail was perfect.
By Friday morning, we were ready.
With Leah on my heels, I walked through the three rooms, admiring the final result as though I hadn’t seen it a dozen times already.
“Satisfied?” I smiled.
“Yeah. And nervous.”
“In less than twenty-four hours, this room will be full of people.” Word had gotten round that the Joneses’ daughter was an artist, and that got people interested. If that wasn’t enough, I’d also convinced my nephews the afternoon before to stick up posters on the nearby streets in exchange for the use of my surfboard. “I’d say the time’s come for a dry run, what do you think?”
“I think I’ll die of a heart attack.”
“Always exaggerating.” I laughed.
She followed me back to the door of the gallery.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“A simulation. Imagine people are around you munching on something, chatting, looking at the pictures, and I’m a very demanding visitor who’s just come in.” I walked down the hall to the first room, and when I got there, I looked at the pictures for a few seconds. Then I turned to Leah and asked, “Are you the artist?”
She laughed a second, then turned serious. “Yes.” I looked at her as if to say that wasn’t enough, and then she spoke again: “Sorry. It’s my first exhibition, I’m a little nervous.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of talent for a beginner.”
“Thanks. Actually I’ve been painting my whole life.”
“Interesting. So this was your dream then?” I asked, walking on to see the remaining pieces in that room.
“Painting, yes. Exhibiting… I don’t know.”
For a moment, I dropped my role, because the response threw me off. I looked at her intensely, as if doing so might help me see beneath her skin.
“Why else would you paint?”
“Just because. For the pleasure of doing it. Of feeling.”
“You’ve never wondered what another person might think of the art you’re creating?”
“You’re a very curious visitor, aren’t you?”
I laughed and shook my head, because she was right, I had gone off script a little.
“Okay, fine, let’s start over.” I walked to the next room.“Imagine you’re here and all of a sudden someone comes over to ask you a question.”
“Shoot,” she said.
I pointed to the picture of the girl with the heart.
“What does this picture mean exactly?”
I could tell that made her nervous. Because it was something personal, something deeply hers, and then all at once it was going to be on display before the eyes of anyone who felt like looking at it.