"Good," Duke Frederick said, a smile crossing his thin lips. "Let's get to it, then."
Schwerin Palace, Mecklenburg-Schwerin
December 8
Daniel von Block glared at the paper before him, furious. The duke had asked for a cubist painting of his large family, and yet objected that the sketches were too blocky and not representative enough.
"You cannot see my children in these slashes, or my wife's beautiful eyes."
Yes, that's because it's a cubist style, you blockhead, Daniel had thought–and barely stopped himself from saying aloud. We need the money–we must have it, he reminded himself again and again. I must be patient.
He sighed deeply, set the drawing aside, and began again. What was needed was a sort of soft, almost impressionist cubism, rather than the stark, very geometric cubism he'd started with. He considered the works of Jean Metzinger and Picasso's early Cubism: two-dimensional portrayals with simple shaded colors and shapes. He added much more definition to the faces, to please the duke, while rendering bodies in basic, gently curved shapes. The rich, sinuous curves of draped fabrics that were common in much contemporary painting were discarded in favor of straight lines and basic shading. In the background, he allowed more austere, abrupt lines and darker shading. Angular shapes indicated depth and texture and light.
The sketch began to show a complexity in its layered effects that astounded him. He found that, to his surprise, he actually liked it better than his first sketch, and Daniel scolded himself for his impatience. He did, indeed, need to hurry to get back to his wife and daughter, but he also had to do work that was worthy of him–and of the princely sum he had been promised. Furthermore, he needed to do work that would inspire others to commission him for similar projects. He must provide for his family. He must be the man and the father he'd failed to be with his first wife and children.
And with that, he thought of Adolf, and felt a stab of guilt and longing. Would he ever find his son? Would Adolf speak to him, if he did? They hadn’t spoken in years, and how old would he be now? Twenty-five, twenty-six? Daniel was embarrassed that he didn’t know for sure.
He realized, at last, that the sun was nearing the horizon, and he hadn't yet made time to work with young Benjamin on his art project. He wasn't half done with this new sketch, but it would have to wait.
He called to Benjamin, who came in from the next room with an open comic book in his hand. There was a character on the front–with a black-and-red suit and black eyes–on top of a green mountain of a creature.
"Ah, reading more Spiderman comics, are you? How's the web guy doing?"
"Um, it's not Spiderman," Benjamin said, uncertainly. "Kind of like Spiderman, but…not very nice."
"Oh? Well, maybe you should put it down for a while, and we can work on your drawing for your mother?"
Benjamin instantly beamed, said, "I'll get it!" and ran back to the other room.
Daniel set his sketch aside and lowered his easel so the two could work together. He pulled up a chair for himself and sat to one side. Benjamin was soon back, and they set up his half-finished drawing together.
Benjamin had much work to do, Daniel thought, with a twinge of guilt. He must make more time–while somehow also finding time to complete the sketches and, more to the point, get them approved. The duke was not the most difficult person he'd ever done work for–he was usually sober, had never (yet) screamed at him, and seemed unlikely to try to punch him. But he was demanding and contradictory, and, like many of his fellow down-timers, the duke found the up-timers' art styles less appealing in practice than in theory.
Benjamin pulled on Daniel's sleeve, nudging him back to the work at hand.
Daniel smiled and put his arm around Benjamin's shoulders. "Yes! So, what's next, do you think?" He nodded to the drawing, which was a multi-panel comic showing Sophia and Benjamin's sister Ursula. In the drawing, Ursula was much older–about Benjamin's current age–and she was wearing a cape. "Have you decided what her superpowers will be?"
"Yes!" Benjamin said, with a proud smile. "She's going to be able to fly, so she can help look for Adolf for you, and she's going to be super strong and super-fast, so she can help mama and me with the chores."
Daniel looked at Benjamin, amazed. Such a kind boy. "That sounds wonderful, my son. Wonderful." He hugged him and blinked back the tears in his eyes. And yet, it was more than time for him to realize that Benjamin listened when he and Sophia spoke to each other–and that he understood when there was trouble. He squeezed Benjamin's thin shoulders. "So, what will you put in that panel?" he said, pointing to the one after baby Ursula revealed her status as a superhero to her mother.
Benjamin pulled out several smaller sketches he'd made, trying to perfect each panel before adding it to the larger drawing. The boy was struggling with both hands and feet, as most young artists did, and he had no concept of depth and perspective. But those things would come, in time. Daniel forced himself to focus on helping Benjamin improve in small ways, while leaving him to do the work at his own pace and his own level. It was quite a charming project, really, and Sophia would be delighted with it. Yet he couldn't help wishing he could redo it, to make it genuinely perfect–and perhaps have Melchior–his most talented student–color it in.
But that was precisely the sort of thing, he finally realized, that would break Benjamin's heart. If only he'd had such wisdom while raising Emanuel and Adolf. If only he could start over with them both. But it was far too late for that.
Daniel watched Benjamin work, mostly in silence. He offered advice sparingly and made mental notes about what to work with him once this project was done.
The boy worked with a focus and seriousness that he admired. Daniel himself had been far less committed at the boy's age. Where would he be now, he wondered, if he'd taken his art so seriously at such a young age?
After almost forty-five minutes, it was too dark to work, and time for him to prepare for dinner.
Benjamin finished putting his drawings away just as one of the governesses, a young lady named Laura Böttcher, came to lead him to his evening meal with the other children. She curtsied to Daniel solemnly and smiled at Benjamin, who immediately launched into a monologue about his art project. She took Benjamin's hand, and they walked down the hall together, as she told him how wonderful it was that he was such a serious artist, and how proud his mother must be. Daniel could hear the pride in his son's voice as they vanished from sight.
Daniel, glowing with pride himself, dressed in more formal attire and went to join the Duke, his wife, and a small group of guests and respected employees, such as his architect, his eldest son's tutor, and of course, his court painter, Daniel himself. Meals were typically rather dull, but the food was outstanding–enough so that he thought guiltily of Sophia and the plain fare that sustained her. Perhaps the duke would allow him to bring her and Ursula when he returned? But no–they must remain to look after the studio and the students, and supervise their work, to the extent she could. They would simply have to bear the separation–but perhaps not for much longer.
Schwerin Palace, Mecklenburg-Schwerin
December 10
The duke had approved the re-done Cubist sketch without a single change, to Block's relief and delight. He'd decided to follow that up with the sketch for the Baroque painting, which he judged would be the easiest, in some ways, though more technically demanding.
He settled the whole family–with the eldest son's tutor as a stand-in for the duke, and the baby's nursemaid as a stand-in for the duchess–in a large room, where he'd carefully, with the assistance of a small group of servants, arranged furniture for over an hour that morning. The youngest children were supervised by two of the governesses, to keep them as still as possible. They held toys, instruments, and, in one case, a small dog who was proving troublesome.
His immediate goal was to get a general sense of positioning, both of furniture and limbs. The background could wait, but he wanted clarity on what would be visible and wha
t not, given each person's size and posture. The youngest of the children squirmed, of course, as he had expected. But all of them seemed bored.
The tutor was quite focused on attempting to charm the nursemaid, and Daniel had to tell him repeatedly to resume the position he'd set him in. In fact, he was nearly as difficult a subject–to the nursemaid's apparent annoyance as much as his own–as the child holding the squirming dog.
At last, after nearly an hour, the dog nipped the small boy–John George–and ran for his freedom, the boy following. John George hollered at the dog, and the governess hollered at him and followed.
Others began to rise, and Daniel groaned. He had hoped to make more progress, but at least he had a solid beginning. "All right, all right. Let's all take a break, hmm? And then—" He turned to the remaining governess. "—if you could bring the three youngest back in a few minutes? I will finish with them quickly, I promise."
She agreed and departed with them to find a snack and have a quick romp in the nursery. Daniel watched them go and sighed deeply. He was grateful to have only two at home, though he worried for the baby, of course. And in spite of the work a larger family entailed, he was torn by the desire for more children and his fear for Sophia if they did. Even with the up-timers' medical expertise, childbirth was still horribly dangerous.
And then the Duke, unexpectedly entered the room, his booming laugh echoing off the walls. "Block! My good man. How goes the sitting? Your models seem to have vanished."
Daniel smiled, doing his best to appear at ease. "We're taking a small break. I've got a good start on the Baroque portrait, though it's only a very rough sketch at this stage."
"Oh?" the Duke said, and roughly pulled the easel around toward himself, nearly tipping it over.
As Daniel helped him settle the sketch, the duke stepped closer and peered at it, frowning.
"Rough indeed," the duke said. Then he smiled and clapped Daniel on the shoulder. "Not to tell you your business, but I think you may have forgotten something."
"Yes?" Daniel said.
"They have no faces," the duke said and roared with laughter.
As close as he was, it was clear from the duke's breath that he'd been drinking–a lot.
Daniel tensed, forcing the smile back on his face. "Ah, yes. I'll be sitting with them in small groups later, and I'll sketch in basic features then." There was no point to that except to please the duke. He'd paint them all later in person, but most people needed features in order to be comfortable with a sketch. It was something all artists learned early in their work.
"Well, well, back to it, then!" the duke said, and walked unsteadily back the way he'd come. "Mind, you tell me if they don't behave, the little devils, and I'll teach them to obey you!" He roared again with laughter and soon was gone.
Daniel reminded himself not to complain about any of the children, no matter how casually, however much difficulty he might have. He didn't know much about the man, but Daniel well remembered a time in his distant past when he was himself a different man. He had complained to one wealthy patron of his son's refusal to sit still and found the boy terrified and clearly in some pain when next he arrived for a sitting. The boy begged to be allowed to stand, and Daniel readily agreed, painting as quickly as he could and carefully ignoring the tears that ran down the boy's face. He'd not risk that again—not for anything.
****
It had taken a very long day of work and sittings with the smaller groups, but by early afternoon the next day, the Baroque sketch was complete. He stood waiting with some trepidation for the duke to examine it, knowing that his time was short. If he had to redo this drawing, he might well fail to return home until after Christmas. Ursula had made it clear, as had Sophia in her own quiet, uncomplaining way, that he was needed and missed. And Benjamin hadn't failed to let Daniel know he missed them, as well–and perhaps especially his young sister.
He studied the sketch, continually reaching to make some small adjustment before stopping himself. The sketch was fine–quite good, in fact. The duke would like it or not, depending on his mood, he supposed.
Finally, he heard heavy, rapid footsteps. As the duke entered the room, he looked harried and distracted. "You have another one ready?"
"Yes, Your Grace." Daniel smiled broadly and made a grand gesture, trying to exude pride at the work. Presentation could sway others' attitudes about art, particularly when the viewer was in any way uncertain of his own powers of judgement.
The duke stood and stared at it for a couple of minutes, pursed his lips, and said, "Yes, that's fine." Then he turned to Daniel and said, "Where are you on the other two sketches? I imagine they'll be more difficult?"
"Perhaps," Daniel said, trying to cover his dismay at so dismissive an acceptance. It was good news, but a bit deflating. "I have some ideas for both. What I'd like to do is offer some very rough sketches to see if you like my approach before doing full sketches?"
"Yes, yes, very good. Well, let me know when you have something." The duke turned abruptly and strode off, Daniel staring after him.
It had been a success, clearly, but…He wondered if there was anything wrong that he should be aware of, but put the thought from his mind. There would be nothing he could do about it if there was.
He put the sketch into his case and tidied up, determined to spend what good daylight remained with Benjamin, guiding him through some lessons on shading and helping him with his Christmas gift. The drawing itself was done, and he'd begun coloring it in the day before. Before they left, he expected, the drawing would be complete–and not a moment too soon.
Daniel would think more about the Surrealist painting later. It had been troubling him for days–even in his sleep. He'd become convinced that the duke would want something both attractive and representative, while also being surreal, and figuring out how to accomplish that would be no small task.
Schwerin Palace, Mecklenburg-Schwerin
December 13
Daniel made one last pitch for Fauvism over Neo-Expressionism, showing Duke Frederick samples of Henri Matisse and Georges Rouault's work from a book that he had brought along. Intransigent as ever, the duke refused, and Daniel didn't press his luck any further. It wasn't that he didn't like Neo-Expressionism–in fact, he liked it quite a bit–but in truth, he had never been tasked to try his hand at it, and he feared the outcome. It was in some respects very similar to Fauvism, but it had a darker, more brooding quality that he didn't think would work well with the brightness and hope of young children. The matter was closed, however, and at the end of the day, he'd figure it out. What mattered more now was getting the Surrealist piece correct.
Going with a Salvador Dali look was too easy, and frankly, growing dull in Daniel's mind. These days, he found great potential in Max Ernst's work. The fact that Ernst was German made it even better. So many up-time styles were the result of French or Spanish or Italian visionaries. Why not give some attention to the German perspective? They were in Germany, after all. But as he and Duke Frederick flipped through his book, looking at a few samples of Ernst's work, the duke did not seem impressed.
"I like it," he said, "but all the people are naked."
Well, not all of them, but Ernst definitely had an affinity for unconventional portrayals of nude bodies.
The duke pointed to a very radical portrayal of a woman's face. "Breasts for eyes? A woman's Scheide for a mouth? Titillating, but not appropriate for my family, hmm?"
The piece in question was called What Men See, and Daniel appreciated the sexual political statement being made. He wouldn't mind trying his hand at something that controversial in time, but not today.
Then he remembered what the French LeNain brothers had done with some of their work for the mural competition, and flipped to a page earlier in the book. He poked a stiff finger at El Greco's Concert of Angels. "What about something like this? I'll use more conventional El Greco representations of body poses and facial expressions and blend it with the absurdity of Ma
x Ernst. Something like this…"
Daniel put the book down and picked up his sketch pad. He blew dust from the tip of his charcoal pencil and began.
He started by drawing an isometric square in the center of the pad. He then drew lines through the square to form a grid, with every other square penciled black. "The world is a chess board," he said, putting the finishing touches on it, "and you and your wife are opposing pieces in Das Spiel der Familie, The Game of Family."
He put Duke Frederick on the side of the black pieces, as the king, drawing him tall and thin, his arms fanned out like peacock feathers, lording over the board like a menacing presence. Images of Benjamin's comic books came to Daniel's mind as he filled out the duke's face with dark smears.
He did the same for Duchess Katharina, she the opposing queen on the white side, her form just as tall and thin and brooding as the duke's, but with baby Juliane strapped to her hip, blaring a small trumpet.
"And now for the children…"
In the center of the board, on various spaces, Daniel placed quick representations of each of the duke's other children. A knight. A bishop. A rook. Several pawns. Each one's body shaped in the traditional El Greco style with faces angelic and perfect as the duke might want. And on the side, a few farm animals watching the game, some cheering for a victor, a cow chewing his cud, a horse with glasses reading a newspaper, a dog the size of a pony sleeping soundly.
Daniel flicked away a few trace pieces of charcoal, blew the pad clean, and turned it around for the duke to get a better look. "What do you think?"
Duke Frederick sat there speechless for a long moment. Daniel began to worry, suddenly remembering that the duke had said that he didn't want any blending of styles. But, hey, he was the one who had rejected Max Ernst's depictions of people. What other option did Daniel have but to experiment? Another long moment passed, then the duke finally nodded. "Okay, good. I like it. But…"
"But what, Your Grace?"
Grantville Gazette, Volume 67 Page 9
