I was more worried about whether to include my blue/green bowl that matched the other four pieces in my assessment or the yellow one that actually sat without wobbling.
Jayne came back in with a grin splitting her face.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I hope you don’t think me awful, Lucy, for being so happy. But they’ve offered me the exchange year. Since you pulled out and Rebecca is disgraced, I’m next in line. They didn’t apologise or admit they were wrong but I’m totally vindicated.”
I jumped up and hugged her, knocking my yellow bowl onto the floor and shattering it.
“I never thought I’d ever get selected for something like this. I’m not talented like you. I don’t have any original style. My work is derivative.”
Those were the words that Rebecca had said to her at the competition. They’d obviously burnt deeply into her brain. Wow, I thought I was helping Jayne by not letting Rebecca do the exchange but this worked out even better. Hells, I’d miss her like a bitch while she was gone but I was so happy for her.
“Hey, I’ll be able to come and visit you while you are there. That will be the next best thing to going myself.”
Jayne packed up her things. She had no worries about ceramics class anyway. Because it was so close to the exchange date, she had to run around like a crazy thing to get everything prepared.
“I’ve got some money saved, thank goodness. All that money from not buying new clothes and pool sharking guys at Willagers. But I only have a short time to save more.”
“You’ll have to give up drinking!”
“Damn, I will. But I can still go to the bar and make money. And I have to learn Italian. Too much to do.”
“Make a list.”
When she’d gone, the buzz died. I was happy for Jayne but I still couldn’t really get myself out of this slump.
I went to get a coffee and it hit me. I didn’t have Chad and I didn’t have the exchange but I didn’t have to let my work suffer. The project I was working on for my painting assessment felt wrong and that was because I’d changed. I didn’t need to push through it though. I needed to start afresh.
I walked back to the studio and grabbed some of my finished canvases from the pile. I found my big brush and the can of white paint. I didn’t have much time until assessments but I could create something much more powerful. All the misery and guts ache could go onto the canvas and out of my system.
I worked on getting those panels back to square one for the rest of the day not even stopping for a break. I had to do it before I second guessed myself.
Tristan came over to my workspace. When he saw my white canvases, he shrieked.
“No, Lucy. No! You’ve destroyed all your work. You won’t have time to fix this.”
But I did. I couldn’t fix anything else in my life but I could fix those panels.
I ended up getting home exhausted. I had to stop because I couldn’t do anything until the undercoat on those canvases dried. Still, I could work on my ideas. I grabbed my sketchpad and created sketches.
“You seem to have a bit more life,” Mum said when she saw me. “Which is a good thing because I need to get back to your father tomorrow.”
I nodded, not wanting to lose my train of thought. Then realised that was a bit rude.
“Thanks, Mum. It really helped having you here. I needed it.”
She smiled at me. It made me happy.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“Don’t forget your other classes,” said Jayne. “No point going great guns in painting and failing everything else.”
But I didn’t care. I knew I’d done enough to pass in my other subjects. I wasn’t working to get good marks or to show off my talent. I was working because it had become a vital part of my life.
I’d spend the next week in the studio in a frenzy. I only stopped to go to work and to go home to sleep. Even then, I ended up leaving the studio only when I had to because they were locking up for the night. I got to know the security guard by name. He’d pop his head in and tell me I had to leave.
I’d always been into my work but not like this. The new paintings had a life and a power that I’d never had before. I’d put all that I had into them. The misery and regret still lived within me but the paintings hid nothing. It almost tore me apart to see my insides up there on the wall for all to see. It stopped me from feeling the pain too deeply inside though and meant that I didn’t have to go home to an empty apartment.
I had finally taken a break to have coffee and get caught up with Tristan and Jayne.
“She’s obsessed with her exchange,” Tristan said. “You weren’t all crazy like that when it was you going. It makes me feel bad because I didn’t even get in the top three.”
“Yeah, because you didn’t work.” It had to be said.
“I was in love. I’m in love again. This time it’ll work out. You’ll see.”
It might actually do Tristan some good to have Jayne obsessed about something. It’d make him see how annoying it was.
“At least Lucy can use her heartbreak for something useful,” Jayne told him.
I hadn’t realised it was so obvious. I mean, I could see because I knew what I was feeling but I didn’t want it blatantly obvious to anyone else.
“Are you entering into the competition?” Jayne asked.
“What competition?”
“Wow, you really have been in a world of your own. There is a prize for us second years. Not an exchange this time but real cash money. I’m entering to get some extra spending money if I win. You really should go in it too. Not that I want you to because I want to win myself.”
I thought about it. Why not?
“All the work will be offered for sale anyway. If I don’t win, I might sell something. That would be a trip, right. Your painting hanging in some random person’s house.”
I laughed. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”
Finally, I was finished. It had taken all I had in me but I stood back and looked at the collection of paintings, the paint still not dry on some of them, and I knew I’d done my best. The colours seemed to dance. It made me proud. I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I would always know I’d achieved something.
They always put the studios under lockdown during assessments so no one could get in and influence the assessors. I had nothing to do for the entire assessment week so I just hung around the house in a daze.
A few times I’d thought of ringing Chad. I wondered if he’d talk to me. I doubted it though and the stabbing pain of him hanging up would kill me. I could live without him. I didn’t want to but I could. I’d proved that.
Once our assessments were over and we were allowed back into the studios, I had to prepare my work for the competition.
I got to the gallery and found the space I’d been assigned for the competition. It was a good space. Not the best in the gallery but on a wall of my own, so I didn’t have other works competing visually with mine. Jayne and Tristan had come with me so we could help each other hang our stuff.
“Wow, great wall.” Tristan screwed up his face.
“You don’t think it’s a bit out of the way? Is anyone going bother with this little nook off to the side?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” said Jayne. “Hand me some of those hooks so we can get this baby hung.”
I was so glad Jayne had arrived. I’d had no idea how to get my painting up but she’d marched off and found a stepladder and all the other equipment we needed. She even had a spirit level.
“Jayne, you are so practical. Isn’t she awesome?” Tristan stood back in wonder as Jayne got to work.
“What do you mean?” Jayne turned to me. “He’s being sarcastic, right?”
I shook my head. “No, you are incredible. We’d be so clueless with this kind of thing.”
Jayne motioned for me to hand her the painting. Tristan and I took a side each and heaved it up while Jayne fiddled with the wires to get it hung.
&
nbsp; Finally, we all stood back and took a look at it.
“It’s not straight,” said Tristan.
Jayne giggled. “You’re not straight.”
Tristan rolled his eyes.
“Are you like five years old? Get some new material, Jayne.”
“It’s straight,” I said. “Let’s do yours now, Tristan.”
Tristan and Jayne had spaces on the other side of the gallery.
“You’d do better if you painted something other than dicks,” Jayne said, holding up Tristan’s painting.
“Why? All the great artists painted dicks. Do you know nothing about art history?” He pursed his lips and shook his head.
I didn’t even want to think about art history. It was the only exam I had to do and needed to get studying. I’d let it fall to the wayside. The day after the exam, Jayne was leaving for Italy so we’d planned a party. She wanted to go early so she could settle in and had even organised an intensive language class for before her semester started. She totally deserved it more than me. I’d only been thinking about the hot foreign men I could shag.
As we left, the gallery owner ran up to us.
“Are you the people who screwed hook into my walls? There are very specific guidelines about how the works must be hung. You received them with the entry form. This is not acceptable.”
“No, it wasn’t us,” said Jayne. “I think it was a girl called Rebecca Forsythe.”
I needed to get prettied up for the opening. They were going to announce the prizes and do all that art opening wank. It was a bore but the lecturers had been on a big thing about needing to network and get our names out so we had connections to gallery owners when we graduated.
I’d not thought much about after graduation until they started talking about that but that wad of prize money would pay for rent on a studio of my own for a year or so.
I put on a dress and did my hair. I thought I managed to combine the pretty with eccentric artist look quite well. I wore a vintage dress in a 40s floral pattern and pinned a big flower in my hair. Not that it mattered. Jayne and Tristan both had family coming but I’d be there alone and probably unnoticed in the corner.
The gallery was a crush when I got back. I guess most students had family and then there were the important guests that had been invited. I searched for Jayne and Tristan but couldn’t find them and then I got dragged off by my lecturer to meet someone. He was an older man with a dried up face. He put his hand out to shake mine and I thought it would wither like an autumn leaf. He kept talking at me about my work and asking all kinds of questions.
Eventually, he told me he’d be interested in my work if I wanted to talk to him after the exhibition. I slipped his business card into my bag feeling like I’d done my networking duties for the night. But no, I got dragged off to meet someone else.
After a while, my face hurt from being all nice to people and trying not to say the wrong thing. I was not good at that. They all asked me the same questions about my painting process and my motivations but I guess that was better than being not asked anything at all.
I hadn’t even found Jayne or seen anyone else when the prize announcement time came. I stood in the middle of the crowd, hoping that I could stay hidden. That way no one would notice if I showed defeat when my name wasn’t called.
The Dean’s speech droned on and on when surely he knew we just wanted to hear the winner. I guess he had a captive audience but he could’ve cut it short.
It all worked up to a big drama with him being passed an envelope. My stomach knotted. I hadn’t realised how much I cared about this. I wanted it to be over. If I didn’t win then I wanted to know. I wished I had Jayne and Tristan beside me. An old lady smiled at me. I wondered if my nervousness was so obvious, she felt compelled to reassure me.
When he read out my name, I started. I won. People clapped and a few of them slapped me on the back as I walked up to the Dean. I looked around the crowd for Jayne and Tristan but there were too many people.
The Dean handed me a certificate and the prize cheque. I had to make a speech but my mind was blank.
Everyone looked at me.
I moved to the microphone, not sure what I wanted to say.
“Um, thanks,” I said, hoping I could leave it at that. The crowd did not look happy.
“I wasn’t expecting to win this so I have nothing prepared to say. I have a few people to thank, my friends Jayne and Tristan.” I heard a whoop from the back of the gallery – near where the bar was, of course.
I took a deep breath.
“There is someone else I have to thank. He’s not here but he taught me more this year than any of my lecturers. I may never see him again but he will be in my art always.”
I didn’t look out into the room. I didn’t want anyone to see my face after that. The words had just slipped out. I moved back into the crowd, hoping to make it to the bar to find the guys and have a drink but so many people wanted to shake my hand.
Eventually, Jayne found me and grabbed me away from them.
“Your painting sold. Fantastic. You’ll be loaded now. I feel bad about taking the exchange. You’d have totally have had the money for it, if you’d only known.”
I punched her arm.
“You don’t feel bad at all. You’ll have the time of your life and you really deserve it more than me.”
The two of us went to check out the sold sticker on my painting. I hadn’t been sure I’d wanted to sell it so I’d put a ridiculously high price on it, hoping to discourage anyone from buying.
I’d won this time by my own ability without any black clouds caused by Rebecca Forsythe. I’d earned a massive stamp of approval.
That my painting had sold added an extra glow. Academic approval was one thing but a sale meant I had real world kudos, that this could be an actual career for me and not just something I played at.
We stood in front of the paintings and I felt a ray of happiness. I might be a loser at love but I could do something right.
Then I saw the gallery owner taking a cheque from someone and all the brightness in me died.
“It’s my grandmother,” I said, surprised that my voice even worked. “She’s the one that bought it. It wasn’t my talent after all.”
All the lightness disappeared from my heart.
Jayne put her arm around me.
“Don’t worry, I think half the paintings here have been bought by family members.”
She herded me to the bar to get me a glass of wine. She didn’t understand and I couldn’t explain but I didn’t want the results of my heartache and misery being hung by the woman who had caused it all. I’d rather burn my work to ashes than have her own it. I hadn’t even seen her at the gallery but then I’d been in that corner all night.
I hoped no one tried to talk to me. If they wanted to congratulate me or discuss my process, I’d not be able to talk. I kept my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.
I waited off to the corner of the drinks table while Jayne queue for our wine. The “bar” was a trestle table covered in butcher’s paper with a few students roped into serving drinks. One of them reached back to open a carton of wine bottles with a pair of scissors. She sat the scissors on the corner of the table as she got out two bottles then turned to grab the bottle opener.
I watched her in a daze, my hand reaching out for the scissors. I knew what I had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
I pushed my way through the gallery. A few people gasped at my rudeness and I’m sure I spilt more than one drink but I had a mission. Jayne ran after me, grabbing my arm to stop me, but I shook her off.
I got to the wall where my painting hung. There is no way that woman would have it. I had to stop that. I had created that work and it was my right to destroy it.
Every muscle in my body tensed and the room blurred. All the noise and chatter fogged. All I could see was my painting in front of me. And every line, every colour, every shape of in that painting
spoke to me of Chad.
If she had my painting in her house, it would be a trophy of the misery she’d caused me. All my passion would become something for her to gloat over.
I held the scissors in my hand and swung at the painting.
The blade of the scissors hit the canvas and rebounded.
I hadn’t even punctured the canvas, I’d just knocked some flakes of paint off. They fell to the floor and I screamed as though the scissors had pierced my heart. I was too weak.
A hand gripped my shoulder but I swung around with the scissors. Let them try to stop me. Didn’t they understand? This was my painting. This was my right.
Tears blurred my vision but those people had sure stopped their polite chit-chat to witness this. It wasn’t about them though. This was about me. And Chad. And Grandmother.
I wouldn’t fail a second time. I stumbled back, to gain momentum. This time I put all my force into it. I’d do this.
I lunged at the painting.
Before the scissors made contact, a pair of strong arms trapped me, pinning me tight. I struggled and squirmed, trying with all my might to get free. Those arms gripped me like a vice and the scissors clanged to the floor.
I’d forgotten the gallery had security.
“Let me go. That bitch can’t have my painting. It’s mine.”
I screamed and kicked but nothing worked. All the anger worked up to a blackness inside me. A black rage that needed to destroy.
“Fuck you, let me go.” I screamed then the words just became a cry.
A hazy blur of shocked faces glared at me as the guard dragged me through the gallery. I struggled to get free but my feet were lifted from the floor. All I could do was flail my legs and that made me even angrier. My hands balled into fists with nothing to strike at and my head pounded.
If it was possible to self-combust from anger, I’d have burned, taking that gallery full of people with me.
Once I got out the gallery doors, the cold air hit me. I sobbed, knowing I’d not get another chance. I’d lost.
Hands Off! The 100 Day Agreement Page 15
