Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I’m excited to see everything.” Grace is warm and encouraging and not what I expected. I thought she’d be far snootier.
I take another breath, feeling a little more relaxed. Grace seems to like the work, and the fact that she sees the Turner influence is… well, I’m so incredibly flattered.
I bring out two canvases I’m still working on and pull off the sheets from the ones that weren’t sold to the Club but remain propped up against the cupboards and walls of the store.
“These are pieces of linen.” I indicate to one of the pieces I’m working on at the moment. There’s a section at the bottom of the canvas that’s raised and lumpy. “I didn’t want it to overwhelm the work, but I wanted a more textural feel. Using the linen is a symbol of how the human race can harness nature and make it stronger. How we can work in harmony with the landscape around us. I’ve also used some of the…”
I pause, I’m not quite sure how Grace will take my confession, but she might as well know all of it, now that she’s here.
“I used some of the earth from the mountain. I dried it out and mixed it with my paint. I tried to match the color of the earth at first, and then I moved up and mixed in some green and blues, but still tried to make them earthy. I don’t know if that makes sense? Anyway, I was trying to take the physical parts of nature and make them part of the work. That’s what gives the painting texture. I wanted to capture nature physically as well as pictorially. You know?”
Grace nods as she examines the work. “I love this direction you’re going in, Juniper. You’re a very talented painter.”
“It’s a hobby, really,” I say, not quite knowing how to take her praise.
“Do you have ambitions to make it your career?” she asks, straightening and looking at me.
“I certainly did, when I was younger. I wanted to be an artist. I was obsessed with Turner and Rothko and Valasquez, like my friends were obsessed with Rihanna or Justin Timberlake.”
“You are an artist, Juniper.”
The tips of my ears burn hot. I’m not an artist. “I’m a teaching assistant. I just paint in my spare time.”
“You’re an artist, Juniper,” she repeats. It doesn’t get any easier to hear. “But you had personal things going on, which meant you didn’t go to art school and you had to get a job to pay the bills.”
“Yes,” I say.
She nods, like she understands completely.
She works her way around the store, looking at my work like she’s taking in every last detail. She asks me questions and I tell her anything. She’s the first person I’ve talked about my work with for a long time who seems to really… feel it.
Eventually she turns to me, her demeanor shifting a little. “I’d really like to work with you if it’s something you think you’d like to do. We can potentially get you a show at one of my galleries. You’d need to create some more pieces before we can do that. And before that, we’d need to start talking about you. I presume you don’t have an agent?”
I shake my head. “I just paint for fun.”
“I can introduce you to people. You need to find the right person. Do you have plans to come to New York?” she asks. “Meeting some important collectors would be a good first step. Before a show.”
“I can’t go to New York. I have a kid in school and a job. I can’t just up and leave.”
Grace smiles. “I understand. The art world is demanding, like any career, but you have real talent. Think about it. If nothing else, you should get an agent who can help you expand your reach a little, now your pieces are on display at the Colorado Club. They can help you get commissions. Help you network with other gallery owners.”
My head starts to spin and my mouth goes dry. Everything she’s saying is so different to how my life is now. And I like my life how it is now. I’m not sure I’m capable of talking to gallery owners and important collectors. I’d feel like a fraud. I never even made it to art school.
“It’s a lot to think about,” I say.
“It is. But it’s exciting. You just need to keep creating. That’s the most important bit.”
“Well, that’s the bit I can do,” I say. In between work, being a mother to an eight-year-old, making sure the house is kept clean and we’ve got healthy food on the table every night. My plate is full without bringing agents and galleries and everything else that having a second job entails. A second job in a world I know nothing about.