by Dayna Rubin
Also by Dayna S. Rubin
A Vetted Asset
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction, names, characters, places, incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-10: 1468011448
ISBN-13: 978-1468011449
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62111-290-7
LCCN: 2012902022
This book or eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book or eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Copyright by Dayna S. Rubin, 2012
First Edition, 2012
All rights reserved
Published by Dayna S. Rubin, 2012
South Elgin, IL
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One: Merging Abstraction with Images
Chapter Two: A Subtle Progression of Hues
Chapter Three: Disclosed Canvas Affinities
Chapter Four: Precedents and Influences
Chapter Five: Illusion of Abstract
Chapter Six: Combined Precision
Chapter Seven: Defining the Spatial Structure
Chapter Eight: A Masterful Stain
Chapter Nine: Symphony of Color
Chapter Ten: Esthetically Aligned
Chapter Eleven: Sensual and Deeply Expressive
Chapter Twelve: Overt Recognizable Imagery
Chapter Thirteen: Colored Webs of Lines
Chapter Fourteen: A Pure Definable Interpretation
Chapter Fifteen: Multi-Colored and Asymmetrical
Chapter Sixteen: Mainstream of Influences
Chapter Seventeen: Tragedy, Ecstasy and Discovery
Chapter Eighteen: Cool and Austere
Chapter Nineteen: Sharp Surface Contrast
Chapter Twenty: Dripped, Poured and Vigorously Painted
Chapter Twenty-One: A Series of Zips
Chapter Twenty-Two: Vivid and Intense
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Language of Color
Chapter Twenty-Four: Lyrical Abstraction
Chapter Twenty-Five: Hard-Edged Painting
Chapter Twenty-Six: Mixed and Diluted
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Vertical and Varying Widths
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Suspended in the Trapped Light; Opalescent
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Vague Linear Spots
Chapter Thirty: Rolled On, Poured On, Thrown On
Chapter Thirty-One: Raw and Unprimed Canvas
Chapter Thirty-Two: Linear Perspective
Chapter Thirty-Three: Abstract Expressionism
Chapter Thirty-Four: Crumpled Canvases
Chapter Thirty-Five: The Chiaroscuro and Sfumato Effect
Chapter Thirty-Six: Proper Proportion and Dramatic Demonstration
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Color Field Painting
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Combinations of Curved and Straight Lines
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Color Pure and Bright
Chapter Forty: A Stippled Surface
Chapter Forty-One: Jagged Flashes of Light
Chapter Forty-Two: Mathematically Composed and Principled
Natanya’s Notes
Acknowledgements
For my mother, who not only gave me the glimmer of the idea to write this book, but also for her continued faith and support of my writing. For my father who impressed upon me at a very early age that I could do anything I set my mind to. For my husband and children, who have always continued to amaze me with their invaluable insights, their unwavering support, and beautiful smiles.
A note of acknowledgement to the Goldens, especially Richard and Shelley, who are incredibly kind and generous individuals. I would like to thank them for their inspirational message delivered to their employees shortly after 9/11.
Their message to give first and continually show others how valuable they are resonated deeply within me, and I will always be grateful. I hope they receive something back for all of their efforts.
My sincere appreciation for the editing expertise supplied by Steve Hershenzon, who directed his keen eye to polishing my manuscript, and has since passed away. I would also like to acknowledge the St. Charles Writers Group, for their company, their humor, and their knowledge of what it is like to find happiness in the written word.
Chapter One
Merging Abstraction with Images
Natanya Bennett reflected on the path she had taken to arrive at her present destination. The value of her choice was yet to be determined, and as she waited for the unveiling, the palms of her hands had become damp, yet her hands were cold. She could see everything around her, yet she felt as though she were in a glass cube on a stage in the middle of a game show. The entire world looking on as her fate was decided.
Fiddling with the straps of a backpack, Natanya waited on the floor of the Metro in Washington D.C., watching the time, train, and location run by in bold orange letters across the screen. If she tried really hard, she could pretend today was just any other day, but she couldn’t because today was not like any other day; it was special, because she chose it. She chose this life of deliverance. ‘Ask and you will receive.’ A shutter coursed through her body as she waited for the inevitable.
It was approaching. She could sense it. She always could, but would her luck hold out this time? They say the third time was the charm, and she would most certainly find out.
Her part in the picture could be considered small for the most part, if you visualized a grain of sand upon a vast expanse of beach. She thought of herself as a dot. A dot of color painted upon a surface, so that from a distance she would blend in with the other dots. Her impressionist painting class called this Pointillism. A practice utilized by Georges Seurat who she tried vainly to emulate, when she was in college.
Natanya visualized her classmates as they would survey a painting of one of the Old Masters and evaluate the colors, tones, and subject matter. She would look deeper. It couldn’t be helped; she had learned the techniques from a very early age of how to recognize the symbols and codes used by those who, like herself, needed to leave a message.
She and the other students had wanted to be restorers. Not just a typical restorer, but also a restorer to the Old Masters. Called upon to clean and restore the greatest works of art the world had ever known. A quiet dedication to preserving the elements that needed to be maintained. To be protected from the human touch and natural oxidation. However, many paintings had been exposed to worse, and needed to be protected for entirely different reasons, these had embedded symbols for just that purpose, to protect them, and Natanya had learned these secrets of the embedded symbols.
No one would have ever suspected that the repair had actually been finished in an incredibly short amount of time. She had to create other reasons to continue to work on her assigned painting, knowing it would be processed through a stringent verification process to ensure she hadn’t damaged it in any way, she was careful. She was said to have the most delicate and steady touch, a skill that rivaled the best conservators.
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sp; Natanya tried to inhale again, but the constriction she felt in her chest wouldn’t allow it. A cross between a cough and a chuckling sound emitted from her as she recalled those last days of applying the finishing touches to the copy she had painted in her apartment. She couldn’t believe she had succeeded in creating the exact likeness. The chemical compound of the paint she had used was identical, along with the canvas, as she had access to one within the same century. The materials were readily available to her from the conservatory; the only difference was the frame, which didn’t really matter because it was just a copy.
The painting had seemed to take up permanent residence on the easel. She had greeted it each morning where it sat positioned next to the bedroom window, resting by the bed, aware of all and of nothing at the same time; not knowing its purpose.
That final morning she had readied herself for work, being sure to wear a dress that matched well with her raincoat. It didn’t actually rain that morning, but she had surmised that it could rain, which would require a light jacket. She had been overly cautious, going over the responses she could give if asked why she was wearing a raincoat on a day that was expected to reach warmer temperatures. She had laid a protective film over the top of the painting, rolled the canvas up tightly, secured it into a sleeve of batting and fabric, and then she had tied a ribbon around it to hold it all together. The package was to be placed inside a pocket within her raincoat. Smuggling the canvas into the lab and deftly placing it within the frame of the original was her prime objective. Who would have thought someone would need to be searched on the way in?
The tricky part was leaving with the original, at least that is what she had thought. Philippe, her boyfriend, had discovered the most ingenious way to accomplish the ultimate method of deception. Shaking her head, she marveled at his audacity. She had been surprised when he had visited her work the first few times, dropping hints here and there about the way she spent her spare time.
Part of her was never sure she could completely trust him, almost as if at any time he would toss her to the wolves. His careless comments thrown into the fray of conversation in the lunchroom would make her blush, not knowing why he wanted to bring their secret out into the open, or what he was going to say next.
When he would inject a telling comment, that only she would understand, she would not be able to swallow, her throat constricting as she imagined the intense line of questioning that would follow if they were to be discovered.
“You wouldn’t believe what Nat is working on.” He would say casually. “Such unusual amount of attention to detail; almost as if she’s working on restoring a priceless piece of art.”
When asked, she would state simply that she didn’t know what Philippe was talking about, and was just painting the kitchen.
The weekend before, she had finished the copy of the Vermeer Painting. Philippe had brought her to a Flea Market; it felt wonderful to be out of the close confines of their apartment. They had walked through the flea market and found a gorgeous old frame, very similar to the frame of the Old Master she had been restoring. She saw herself stopping in front of the frame, mouth agape, and then turning to Philippe to remark on its amazing likeness. She had bent to examine it, had analyzed it as being approximately the same age, as the markings looked identical, and after closer examination, she had established it could pass. She recalled that Philippe had merely glanced at it, not wanting to spend all their time on old picture frames, and he had subsequently pulled her to the next booth where he could check out comic books for his collection.
When she had turned back to look at it one last time, it was gone. A great find she had thought, someone had most assuredly purchased it. Natanya had felt a sudden loss at that time, as if she had been meant to have it; that they were meant to be joined.
Natanya reflected on the beautiful day they had shared together. They had walked hand in hand past the flower stands, past the various booths displaying their wares, which beckoned them onward. Then they had happened upon on a quaint outdoor café holding an open-mic night; allowing everyone from poetry readers, solo guitarists to quartets to perform. It had seemed that anything was possible. Was it she who had come up with the idea? Or was it Philippe?
It was such a simple idea concocted after an extraordinarily exquisite day…Natanya sifted through her memories of that day, setting aside the beautifully tinted images that blocked the memory residing just behind the curtain. Each attempt she made to sweep back the sheers, which ever so lightly obscured the facts, was met with equal determination to keep her from doing so.
There were several delays, but the head of the department had finally set the date and the time came to review the painting for its authenticity. Of course, the painting passed. There was no question that it would not…the review had become a mere formality, as there hadn’t been any hint of past forgeries.
After the painting passed inspection, just as they had planned, she had inserted the tell tale symbols depicting the forgery. Except this time, she had set them into the original. A bit of insurance, if ever there was any question as to which was the original…
The going away party for the restored painting had been set for the following day. Their success was usually celebrated when they had finished restoring a large project, especially an Old Master. They spared no expense, as the notoriety earned, along with the prestige for the conservatory, would become part of history.
Natanya continued to reflect on what had then occurred on that fateful day as she sat in the Metro station waiting.
Chapter Two
A Subtle Progression of Hues
Natanya found herself walking into the nearby Starbucks, delaying her entrance to work after disembarking from Metro.
Upon entering, she had observed people drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and chatting together nicely. Their bright smiles and cheerful music amplified her nervous state instead of calming it.
“It’s Natanya, right?” Natanya jumped as she heard her name called out from across the café and suddenly she knew she had made the right choice. Her face had become flushed and she had been dizzy contemplating what she had been about to do.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time placing you….”
“Oh, right, I live across from you…well, not directly across from you, but the building on the opposite side of the courtyard. I see you with your easel…painting sometimes…it is Natanya…isn’t it?” She finished awkwardly. “That’s a really unusual name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
“Yeah…it’s from a town in Israel,” Natanya said, taken briefly off guard. “My Grandmother on my Dad’s side was Jewish, and she had insisted my Dad name her first Granddaughter Natanya, which was me, after Nathan Straus. He was part of the family of Macys, and had donated two-thirds of his income to helping the Jewish people, who in turn created a town called Natanya in his honor…” Natanya narrowed her eyes as she continued, “So you know Philippe, then?”
“Yeah…I know him…” The attractive young women glanced furtively back at her friends sitting at their table.
“Where do you know Philippe from?” Natanya’s voice dropped to a whisper as she felt the familiar tightening of her throat.
“From the apartment complex…I seem to run into him frequently.” She left the sentence hanging in the air, enveloped in its own bubble, ready for Natanya to burst and delve into her deeper meaning. “Philippe says that you like to paint by the bedroom window because it affords you the best light.”
“Yeah…um, that’s right…” Natanya’s words trailed off as she tried to imagine what she could have seen.
“I’m Lilly by the way.”
Natanya’s eyes inadvertently shifted to the people surrounding both of them as she wondered how many others had seen her painting at the window. A flush slowly crept upwards from her neck to nestle comfortably on her cheeks where it intended to take up residence for a while.
“Lilly, it is so nice to meet you, but I�
��ve really got to run as I am already late for work.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you too, but weren’t you going to order coffee?” Lilly asked.
“Right, coffee…that’s what I want to do is uh, order coffee, you’re absolutely right. So, I’m going to order coffee, and then I’m going to go. I’m going to go to work, my work. Across the street. Yup, okay, well it was really nice meeting you.” Natanya finished awkwardly, letting her long dark hair fall over her face as she dug into in her purse for her wallet.
When Natanya dared to look up again, she saw Lilly’s bewildered and somewhat annoyed face. Natanya quickly made her way to the counter, standing in line with a group of others as she waited to order her coffee. She glanced up again, locating Lilly who had reseated herself at a table where she resumed her conversation with her friends.
Natanya placed her order, and then took up her position with the others at the next counter to wait for her coffee. She exhaled in long slow breaths, until she began to feel calmer and feel the heat recede from her face and neck.
As she waited, she thought about Lilly’s comments, the first being the most important, the one about Lilly continually running into her boyfriend was tossed aside, as he was a consummate flirt, and made most women feel they were the only one standing in the room. She was used to that, but the first comment, now that one was important.
“Caramel Macchiato with soy milk,” called out the Starbucks barista.
“That’s me, mine, I mean, that’s my coffee.” Natanya inched her way forward through the crowded café to pick up her drink and then turned sideways to make her way out, holding her coffee up above her head, she broke free of the crowd, finding herself on the street looking out onto the conservatory building.
Natanya took a moment to regain her composure while she waiting for the crosswalk signal. There was no harm done…all she would have seen was me painting, that’s what I do. I am a restorer, and I paint. So Lilly saw me painting…it could be anything. I could have been painting anything…with gloves on…which would inhibit fingerprints, but it could be deemed as normal…people do that…paint with gloves on…for the sake of neatness.
