Pushing the Limits(15)

There's a story in every piece and most of the time, the artist is the  only one who really knows what it is. It's almost as if each artist  speaks their own language. You can appreciate the beauty of the words  but never quite catch their meaning. That's what I love most about art.  What one painting means to me could mean something completely different  to someone else.

I walk in front of a large abstract painting titled Rain at Dawn. It's  an interesting piece, but it doesn't really give away much. You have to  look at it, study the details to see what the artist is really showing.

The artist focused on the raindrops the most. On one side, a puddle is  forming, and on the other, a large raindrop is about to land on the  black cement. You can see a house shaded in the background, but it's  blurred out. There's a light on through the window, but you can't see  inside. The trees are all bare, which means it's fall or winter. The sky  is dark and gloomy except one small part on the right side where the  sun is starting to peek out.

It's actually really beautiful. For me, it feels like peace and  happiness. I love the sound of rain. Ariel and I would play in the rain  every chance we could or until Mom would yell at us to get back inside.  When we were kids, we'd go fishing with our dad in the summer rain or  shine. One morning, he woke up before the sunrise. It had been raining,  so we sat out on the boat together and watched the sun come up as the  rain poured down over the water.

Those days were absolutely perfect.

The longer I stare at it, the more emotional I start to feel. My eyes  start to water, and before I know it, small tears are falling down my  cheeks.

God, I'm a mess. I never let myself cry.

I head to the back and grab a tissue to dry my face. Just as I'm walking  back out, Professor Hampton is standing by the information desk.

"Holy shit," I gasp. He turns toward me and smiles. He looks absolutely  delicious in his form-fitting gray suit and pale white shirt underneath.  His hair is styled in a way that makes me want to run my fingers  through it and … oh my God. My fingers twitch at the thought. I blink,  forcing my mind to stop racing long enough to speak. "You have a habit  of scaring the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd hear me come in." He points above the door  where a bell is hanging. Every time someone comes in or leaves, it  rings.

"I was in the back getting something," I lie, hoping he doesn't question my bloodshot eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my aunt. Is she here today?"

"Actually, no. She and the curator had a meeting. Kendall's out with a cold, so I'm just here manning the door."

"I see."

"I can tell her you stopped by." I dig around for a pen and piece of paper. "You can leave her a note."

He smiles and steps closer. "Sure."

He stands across from me at the counter as I hand it to him. "Here."

"Do you mind writing it? She won't be able to read it otherwise if I do."

"Oh, um, sure. What should it say?"

He clears his throat as if he has something really important to say. I  smile but keep my head down so he doesn't notice. "Dear Aunt Mel, I  stopped by to discuss a very important matter with you." I look up at  him and see him grinning.

"Continue on … " I purse my lips and shake my head at him.

"Your employee, Aspen Evans, has impeccable talent, and is refusing to  show it off at the Spring Art Gala … " I've already stopped writing as I  look up and glare at him. He notices my hand has stopped and nods his  head at the pen. "Keep writing."

"I'm not writing that."

"All right. I'll just call her then."         

     



 

I sigh. "You are relentless."

"Determined," he counters.

"Why?" His smile fades. "Why's it so important to you?"

He steps even closer, which hardly seems feasible, but with a counter between us, he can't possibly get any closer.

His eyes burn into mine as he replies. "I've been teaching art classes  for five years and have had many students on all different levels. Some  have no business being in a college-level art class and some have so  much talent, it makes me wonder why I'm the one teaching them. But  you … you are the latter." He pauses, and I suck in my lower lip at the  way he's looking at me. "You've completely blown me away."

I stare up at him, stunned and at a loss for words. I don't know how to  respond. I don't know what to think. My entire body is on fire, and I  can't keep my eyes off him.

I swallow and try to focus on finding my voice. "You're really  passionate about art," is the first thing that comes out of my mouth,  and I want to slap myself for sounding so stupid.

"I was." He shrugs. "I've taken some time off. I haven't even thought  about painting in months-that is until I saw what you're capable of  doing."

I furrow my brows. "Why's that? How does an art professor take time off from painting?"

"Actually, it's really easy," he says with a laugh. "I hand out the  assignments, show a video here and there, and basically, critique  everyone else."

"What made you stop?"

His chest rises and falls slowly before he answers. "I haven't been in  the right state of mind to paint. Everything would look awful and then  I'd get even angrier."

I nod. "I know a thing or two about being angry. That's actually how I  started drawing," I admit, but immediately wish I could take it back. I  don't want him asking questions that'll lead to Ariel's death.

"I like to work when I'm in a happy state of mind, which as of late,  hasn't been often." I'm surprised by how honest he's being with me and a  bit confused as to why he is in the first place.

"Have you tried?"

"Tried what?"

"To paint when you're angry?"

"No. I have no desire to," he states firmly.

I flash a weak smile. "Maybe you should try. You might surprise yourself."

Before he can respond, the phone rings and makes me jump. Neither of us  moves as the phone continues to ring. His eyes are locked on mine and  mine remain locked on his. "Don't you have to get that?"

"Get what?" I blink a couple times, finally focusing. "Oh, right."

He grins. "You're O for two."

"Good thing door watching and phone answering isn't my major." I sneer and turn to answer the phone.

It's Ms. Jones.

"Yes, everything's fine. No, I haven't burned it down yet. Yes, I'm  watching the door." I turn and see Professor Hampton smiling wide in  amusement. "As a matter of fact, there's someone here. So I better let  you go. Yes, I'll put my friendly face on. Mmkay, bye bye."

I hit the ‘end' button and point at him. "Don't even say it."

He's laughing now. "Say what?"

I'm flustered and can't think straight. "Anything. Don't say anything."

He's still laughing. "Okay."





I watch Professor Hampton as he effortlessly explains our next  assignment. You'd never guess by how passionately he talks about art and  how knowledgeable in the classroom he is that he'd be going through  some inner turmoil himself. He has such a strong, confident aura about  him, but when you really get to know more about him outside of being a  teacher, you realize he could be just as damaged and broken as I am.

We're working on optical illusion 3D images tonight. I love being able  to paint with colors and tell a story, but sometimes drawing is a nice  break in between pieces.

I've done 3D drawings before, but I've never done them outside of class  to really get practice. I've done simple objects, nothing too over the  top, but now we're stepping it up a notch and adding an illusion factor.

"Think of your favorite character. Disney, anime, hero, whatever. Draw  it with a backdrop. You may have to cut parts of the paper out to pull  it off, but get creative."

We each settle into our areas, and as everyone's pencils are already  furiously moving, I stand anxiously and stare at the blank paper.

"What's wrong?" Ellie asks, noticing my puzzled expression.         

     



 

"I can't figure out what to draw … "

"Girl, I've been drawing for ten minutes, and I still don't know what  I'm drawing." I laugh out loud at her confession. "Seriously, just wing  it."

I turn and scowl at her. "You're so helpful. Thank you," I say dryly.

"I'll be here all night." She grins.

I smile as I think about the Disney movies Ari and I used to watch as  kids. We'd always argue over which ones to watch first. She always  wanted The Little Mermaid so she could say she was Ariel, the mermaid,  and I'd get stuck being Ursula. I preferred The Lion King and 101  Dalmatians, anything with animals, but I probably won that battle once  out of every four times.

Sometimes I didn't mind, though. We'd dress up in princess gowns and  dance around the house while singing-or rather shouting-the lyrics we  made up.