by Gun Brooke
“All right,” I said and broke out of my disturbing train of thought with some effort. “I recognize most of you from the last time I was here. I trust you have empty canvases to dig into?”
“Aren’t you going to keep critiquing what we’ve done so far?” Ulli jutted her hips forward and shoved her hands down the front pockets of her tattered, stud-decorated jeans.
“I’ll still do that, but today Hayden and I want to see how you use your time, what techniques you choose, what medium you prefer, and—of course—your motif.”
“So we should paint something out of thin air?” Luke frowned at his canvas.
“No. I’ve brought ten reference pictures and some objects from which you can find inspiration and guidance.” I turned to India. “Would you tape the posters to the whiteboard over there, please?”
“Sure.” India took the large folder sitting next to me and waved to Hayden to assist her. I should have known my sneaky assistant would find a way to get Hayden alone, sort of.
“You have fifteen minutes to plan and one hour to finish. Use your technique for speed painting. Don’t overthink.”
“As you’re adamant about Hayden’s presence,” Leyla said slowly, sounding far too pleased with herself, “why doesn’t she put up an easel and paint along with the students—lead by example, as it were?” She gave that sweet smile I’ve come to recognize and loathe.
I wasn’t sure how I knew a trap lurked behind Leyla’s words, other than her accompanying Cheshire grin. “Hayden? Is that something you would want to do? Speed paint and show how it’s done?” I walked up to Hayden, who was taping a photo of a rainforest to the whiteboard. “It’s up to you.”
“That’s an incorrect assumption.” Hayden frowned. “When it comes to art, there are plenty of ways to do it the wrong way, but also many to do it right. My way is right for me. It may be wrong for the students.”
“It’d be great to actually see you in action, Hayden,” Luke said, grinning. “I’ve seen a couple of your paintings, and you rock.”
“I assure you, I do not. Rocking would destabilize my grip on the brushes.”
Luke opened his mouth to say something but clearly changed his mind and tried again. “Eh, I meant…I meant you’re really good.”
“Thank you.” Hayden nodded. Turning to me, she smiled again. Or rather, she presented that stretching of her lips, which made me consider if it was something she’d learned to do, as it didn’t affect the rest of her features. Still, it was oddly endearing. “I will paint.”
“As long as you’re sure.” I turned to address the class again when Hayden continued.
“I’ll be sure when Mother leaves the classroom.”
“What?” Leyla sputtered. “I have a right to oversee what goes on in my own school.” She gestured emphatically.
“If you stay, I’ll go back to my studio. Unless I’m mistaken, this will mean Greer leaves too.” Hayden looked at me questioningly and I nodded slowly. If it wasn’t obvious before, I had sided with Hayden and committed to the terms of teaching once and for all.
Leyla was an annoying, quite horrible person in my eyes, but she was no fool. She glared at us but then laughed, a shrill, silvery sound meant to come across as amicable, no doubt. Sort of like saying, “Oh, that rascal daughter of mine,” which, of course, nobody bought. She waved girlishly and left, the clacking from her tall heels hard and unforgiving, like the spray of hail from a shotgun.
It was easier to breathe, and I thought I actually heard several people sigh in relief. Hayden hurried out the door and quickly returned with an extra easel and an empty canvas. To my surprise, I now looked forward to the master class not only because of her, but also because of these young people who looked at me as if I had all the answers. Instead of finding their trust daunting, I motioned for them to commence.
“I’ll be walking among you. Don’t be nervous if I stop to comment or ask questions. I’m not interested in failing anyone in this class. Quite the contrary.”
“Gatti used to yell and make us feel like idiots when he got mad.” Ulli pursed her lips as she grabbed a wide brush. She dipped it into a jar of clear water and began to place a gray wash of color over the upper part of her canvas. “Are we allowed to talk, by the way? We’ve seen some weird-ass rules about that before.”
“As long as you’re not disturbing someone who wants to be quiet, I don’t see a problem with that.”
“Music?” Luke asked.
“Perhaps not this first time. You can discuss that among yourselves. It has to be unanimous if you want music.” I strolled among the canvases and saw some of the students hadn’t started yet. They were perusing the reference photos, and one girl looked pale and concerned.
“How can I help you? Tell me what you’re thinking.” I stood next to her. “What’s your name?”
“Mio.” She had at least twenty blond braids sticking out at different angles around her head, and now she chewed the tip of one of them. “I don’t paint much scenery. I’ll just end up painting something dorky if I do that.”
“Why not try something from the cityscape photos? Use the forms and shapes for inspiration. It’s not about copying. It’s about interpreting. Catch the mood, the light, the essence, and the feelings you experience at any given time.”
Mio sucked on the braid and let it go with a plopping sound. “All right. Got it. I think.”
“I’ll check back with you.”
She hummed something incomprehensible and returned to her easel with determined steps. I took the opportunity to walk over to Hayden. She worked quickly, her eyes mere slits and her lower lip in a firm grip between her teeth. I rounded the easel and stood for a few minutes, watching her motif take form. She clearly used the rain-forest photo as inspiration for her background, with a long, straight road from another of the photos disappearing among the trees. Dark forms loomed behind the shrubbery, and as I found myself mesmerized by the darkness of the painting, she added brightly colored birds in the foreground. The contrast was staggering.
“That’s downright eerie,” India said next to me. “You weren’t kidding. She’s scary good.”
Hayden didn’t scare me, but her painting instilled dread in me as I now saw some of the beautiful birds were lying dead and broken on the ground. I wanted to ask her why the beauty in the painting was dying, but I couldn’t do that in front of the students. If Hayden kept talking openly with me, it needed to take place in a confidential setting, not in full view of virtual strangers. It was rather ironic, since Hayden had known these young people much longer than she’d known me.
I spent the next hour walking among the students, slowly getting to know them a little, even if I would have to pin name tags on them eventually. Luke, Ulli, and Mio were easy to remember, and one by one I’d memorize the rest.
“Fuck!” Ulli threw a brush onto the floor and tugged at one of her piercings.
“What’s up?” I rounded her canvas and studied it closely.
“It’s almost done, but here…” Ulli pointed with disgust at the right upper corner. “It’s looking muddy.”
She was right; she’d tried to add too much detail when trying to paint lace against her dancer’s arms.
“Hayden, we need you here.”
Hayden looked up from her painting with a dazed expression, which cleared when she joined us.
“Can you help Ulli find a way to clear up the lace fabric she’s after here?” I pointed.
“Yes.” Hayden examined Ulli’s brushes. Finding an unused, old, and spiky-looking one, she glanced at Ulli. “May I use this one?”
“Sure.” Sending me a curious glance, probably wondering why Hayden would even ask, Ulli shrugged.
Hayden gripped the brush with something close to reverence. “Do you wish for the lace fabric to hint at maroon?”
“Yeah, and it’s supposed to be broken. Tattered, kind of.” Ulli stepped closer, looking intently at Hayden.
“You have the skin tone done correct
ly, as this woman is dancing in the moonlight. This will make the maroon lace also take on a colder hue. We can use what you’ve already applied and add the highlights to hint at the lace. You don’t need to paint every single thread of it…just hint.” Hayden dipped the spiky brush in white and mixed it with some ochre and gray. “Watch.” She moved the brush slowly to show Ulli, creating the highlights with such a light hand I actually believed I detected each individual thread of the lace.
“Whoa. You’re freaking awesome.” Ulli patted Hayden’s shoulder.
Hayden went rigid and nearly dropped the brush. My heart began to race at how such a friendly touch affected Hayden. She looked like she wanted to run but remained with us, clutching the brush with whitening fingertips.
“Yikes, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Ulli looked as alarmed as Hayden did.
“Tactile approach creates a nervous reflex. It’s an automatic response.”
I guessed this gut reaction of Hayden’s was difficult to deal with. She harnessed her onslaught of nerves, but it cost her, judging from the beads of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip.
“You should see me when my boyfriend pulls his stupid pranks and scares the crap out of me. One time I screamed so loud, the neighbor called the police.”
Looking intrigued by this piece of information, Hayden turned her entire focus on Ulli. “Did the police incarcerate your boyfriend?”
I held my breath, wondering if this talk about the police had stirred memories from the other evening when Leyla had locked Hayden’s door.
“No, no. I told them he was just being his usual moronic self. He can be a total di—idiot,” Ulli said, stopping a potentially crude word after glancing at me, “but I love him anyway.” She crinkled her nose.
“Unconditional love.” Hayden turned back to the painting and continued laying down the highlight. “I’ve read about that concept.”
I found it difficult to swallow. What did that statement mean? I filed it away for future reference as I followed the graceful movements of Hayden’s hand while she made the thinnest lace appear like magic.
“See?” Hayden said to Ulli. “Try it on the shoulder where the light hits. Just very lightly.”
“Like this?” Ulli did her best to mimic Hayden’s brushstrokes.
“Barely touch the canvas. The brush needs to be dried off before you dip into the colors. Yes, much better.” Hayden nodded approvingly.
“Damn, she’s freaking awesome,” I heard Luke whisper behind me, and only then had I realized that the whole class was following Hayden’s first teaching experience.
“Good job, Hayden—and Ulli. Excellent lesson for all of us.” I smiled toward Hayden, who merely nodded and returned to her canvas. I didn’t follow her, as I feared this might make her self-conscious. She threw herself into working on her own canvas, and her shoulders relaxed and sank.
I worried about how tense she’d been while being the center of all the attention, but when I passed her a few minutes later, I saw a faint hint of something I’d never seen before. Hayden was working on her speed painting, and for a fleeting moment I could have sworn she gave the tiniest genuine smile.
Chapter Six
I walked among the finished speed paintings. The students had gone on their break before their next class, and India had returned to the office. As I perused the result of their first master class, I was aware of Hayden as she stood cleaning her brushes under the faucet in the corner.
“Tell me,” I said, stopping at Mio’s canvas, “what’s your first impression?”
Hayden didn’t answer right away but finished with the brushes before turning her attention to me. “You have to be more specific. First impression about what?”
Realizing my question lacked precision, I waved Hayden over. “Sorry. Let’s start with Mio, here. What do you think about her painting?”
Hayden pulled her upper lip in between her teeth and gripped her brushes tightly. “I see a lot of pain.”
I blinked and returned my gaze to Mio’s piece. The background, an urban setting washed with stark moonlight, set a stark background for the main motif—an ethereal elfin or fairy that clung to a wilted bouquet of flowers. Yes, Hayden was correct. A definite pain was present.
“And loneliness,” I said. “That little creature is all alone in the dark alley.”
“Yes. Impending danger.” Hayden nodded.
“I’d say Mio managed to grab our attention and fulfilled her assignment well.” I made a note on my tablet and moved to Ulli’s canvas. “Ah, our lace-covered dancer. She did do a pretty good job of implementing your technique.”
“She did.” Hayden frowned and leaned closer to the painting. “She’s careless in how she lays down the background. Perhaps she’s in a hurry to start painting the main motif.”
I had to agree. While the figure with the tattered lace drew my attention, the rest appeared sloppy and a missed opportunity to entice the viewer. I made yet another set of notes.
Luke had painted with bold, vivacious strokes. Unlike most of the others, he’d used oils and also added shredded paper for more texture. This practice gave life to his landscape and beautiful insects.
“And this?” I pointed at Luke’s work.
“He shows impeccable technique, but…” Hayden stepped closer and then backed up several steps. “Ah. I was mistaken. You need to view it from here.”
I walked over to her and regarded Luke’s canvas. At first I didn’t realize what she referred to, but after a few moments, I noticed the astute way Luke had constructed his speed painting. The insects were there and could be seen as part of the scenery, but they also described the outline of a beautiful man’s face. “Very clever.”
Hayden nodded. “So much hidden, yet available under the surface.” She spoke thoughtfully and tapped her lower lip with the back end of a brush.
I used her exact words as I wrote down my notes regarding Luke’s work. We walked among all the paintings, some quite good, some rather bad, and a few hinting at the promise of future brilliance. When we reached Hayden’s painting, she remained quiet.
“I’m not going to critique you like you’re one of the students. Your work inspires them and shows them what to strive for.” I smiled in encouragement as I sensed tension growing within her.
“Would you share your thoughts anyway?” Hayden asked in a low voice. She shifted her brushes back and forth, sorting them from largest to smallest without looking at them.
“Sure.” Her painting drew me in, making me want to revive the poor little birds on the ground. The shadowy figures in the background instilled worry and fear. What inside Hayden had she transferred into the painting? Residual anxiety from being locked up? Resentment toward her mother?
I realized Hayden was waiting for my response and that perhaps my delay made her nervous, judging from the way she traced the wood pattern in the handle of her brushes. Clearing my throat twice, I relayed my gut reaction to her work but withheld my speculations about her potential motives. “You have a true gift of expressing yourself like this, Hayden,” I said as a finish.
Hayden’s shoulders lowered as she exhaled. Had she been that anxious? Now she looked relaxed, and the brushes stilled between her fingers.
“I’m going to lunch.” I seized the moment. “Would you like to join me?”
At first I thought she’d readily accept, but Hayden grew tense again and frowned. “Where are you having your lunch?”
“I figured that little Italian restaurant down the street from here. I’ve been there before and the food is amaz—”
“No.” Hayden turned her back and tucked her brushes into their casing. “Should I leave the canvas here or take it with me?”
“Leave it for now, please. Hey, if you don’t like Italian food—”
“I do.”
“Why don’t you want—oh, you have other plans?”
“No.”
“Then why?” I kept my tone nonjudgmental as I carefully step
ped closer to Hayden.
“I—I don’t handle crowds well. It is lunch hour. Lots of people.” She’d saved one brush to hold on to, and her coping technique made tenderness erupt in my chest.
“What if I call ahead and ask the maître d’ to arrange for a booth away from the main area?” I observed her features for signs of stress. I knew that some cases of autism, if she indeed had this condition, made it hard to process increased levels of sound and other impressions. Too much stimulation for the senses could overwhelm the individual because their brain had difficulty processing it all at once.
“You’ve been there before?” Hayden looked hesitant, stippling the inside of her left palm with the strands of her brush.
“Yes. It’s a popular restaurant, but it’s also well managed and it’s not a buffet, so you don’t have to fear wrestling someone over the different dishes.”
“I would never wrestle with anyone for food. I’d let them have it if they were that hungry.” Hayden obviously found such behavior appalling.
“I was exaggerating,” I said, berating myself for confusing her when I knew better. “So, would you trust me to take you out to lunch?”
Hayden tilted her head, her dark hair falling to her shoulders in rich waves. “All right. Yes. All right.” She held on so hard to her brush that I feared she might break it.
“Good.” I dialed the restaurant, having found it in my list of favorite places to dine. The maître d’ was more than accommodating, and I reached for my coat as I disconnected the call. “They have a booth for us.”
Hayden regarded me with something that looked like terror-filled delight. She grabbed a jacket from a hook by the door and pulled it on. Then she pushed her hands into the pockets, paintbrush and all. As I passed her to leave the room, she turned back, and for a moment I thought she’d changed her mind. Instead she took a few more brushes and tucked them in her right pocket. She shoved the brush casings into her box of art supplies. Crossing the floor, she walked with long strides toward me.
“All set?” I almost guided her by touching her back but stopped myself, as I knew how she would receive such a touch.
