Page 34 of The Artist's Rival
Disheartened, she runs her thoughts back to the argument, rolling Tatiana’s words around her mind. Ellie knows her tendency to come off as slightly controlling. Or, whatever, arrogant. These accusations always stun her, not as something untrue, but absurd. She loves to take great care of those dear to her, lovers, friends, or family. The idea that she will actually have to put work into this side of her, if she wants to be with someone like Tatiana, forms slowly but sturdily.
She picks up the phone again, not ready to apologize but warming up to the idea at the back of her mind.
Rejected.
She finishes her beer and realizes she’s beginning to get cold, beginning to feel desolate. Two unanswered calls are enough to make her look desperate, and she holds that knowledge painfully. Despite feeling degraded, she tries again.
Fails.
She decides to go to sleep. Walking back to the hut, she decides to put the thoughts about Tatiana to stop for the duration of the trip. Then, reaching the doorknob she changes her mind. She’s going to think thoroughly about herself in relation to Tatiana. When they get the chance to talk again, she will be ready to face the situation. She will be ready to rekindle their connection and start anew, with a better foundation.
She passes the laughing crowd of friends and heads downstairs to try to sleep. The little dark room seems to her more of a wooden cave, but she doesn’t mind. Its cool temperature seems perfect to simply slip into the sheets and drift away to sleep. She’s craving the deep, dreamless sleep of a child, the black abyss able to comfort a mind, instead of the shallow, feverish sleep full of haunting dreams. She brushes her teeth, feeling the wave of tiredness rise up her legs. Lying down to sleep, enveloped by the sheets, her mind is only able to focus on Tatiana’s face, her laughter, her soft fingertips that used to trace Ellie’s face. Then she remembers the burning words thrown at her by Tatiana, the undeserved anger filling the space of her studio, a space previously filled by countless confessions and laughter. She lies quietly, unable to comprehend the reason for such an outburst and suddenly glad that Tatiana didn’t pick up. The situation was not only Ellie’s fault, and she knows that she would have burst out in apologies instead of acting more reasonably. Plagued by thoughts of this nature, she slowly drifts away into a restless sleep.
13
TATIANA
The hairbrush keeps fishing out small tangles in Tatiana’s long unruly red hair. She pushes it down with more strength, ripping out a few strands. Today is her grand vernissage—she only learned how grand the vernissage is going to be very recently—and it is marked by her hair being in horrible condition. Otherwise, she feels at peace. When she forces every thought of Ellie far away from the track of her thoughts, she feels at peace.
The last few days, Tatiana has been contemplating the collection deeply. She looked through all the artwork combined, Ellie’s and her own, and thought it to be a truly perfect blend. Feeling confident about the art allows her to be in her element during the opening.
While getting dressed, she finally has to admit, as well; the unanswered calls, still somewhere at the back of her mind, give her some additional confidence. A little ego-boost, a taste in her mouth so sweet she can almost ignore its sickly aftertaste. At the time, she regretted profusely leaving them abandoned, she craved hearing Ellie again, maybe even apologizing, which does not come to her easily. But now, she feels over the affair—this she repeats like a mantra. She feels excited to open her exhibition and lets herself be proud of the work that went into it.
–
Uncharacteristically exactly on time, Tatiana finds the perfect parking spot, almost by the entrance. Gathering herself, she sits for a while behind the wheel, watching the early guests enter. Some friends, some journalists. When she catches a glimpse of Ellie’s figure by the entrance, she freezes. Tatiana realizes that she hasn’t seen Ellie in person since the argument. Her things from the studio were brought to her by Fred, all the details settled by email. The feelings she thought were dealt with suddenly resurface, flooding her calm demeanor with a storm. The winds of memories tug at her confidence, waves of longing storm the shores of her stoic approach to the situation. The same figure that used to embrace Tatiana warmly, kiss her lips tenderly, laugh with her for hours—that same figure is standing right there, talking to someone, smiling invitingly. Tatiana makes an effort to push these unruly feelings back down, deciding this is not the time nor space for a dissection of her romantic situation. She is going there as a professional artist, looking to present her work and forge new connections, she tells herself, feigning confidence. She is going there as a professional artist, who would never hook up in a gallery’s bathroom, she smirks to herself going up the stairs.
She can see Ellie handling some introductions and tries not to think too hard about it. She will only try to keep her distance, as naturally as possible. The assistants walk around with trays full of glasses, swift and graceful. Tatiana turns around, looking at the works of art hanging, gloriously, on the walls. She feels proud, truly proud of herself and of Ellie, whatever relationship they may have now, for completing such a big project together. In a moment, the time to make the opening speech together will come, and in preparation Tatiana decides to drink up one glass. There aren’t many guests yet, everything stands half-full. It’s difficult to perform this dance of avoiding Ellie at all costs, a dance that she’s been dancing for a while, with only half of the room full. She didn’t make a conscious decision to avoid Ellie; in truth, she thought herself over the situation, capable of having a casual chat with her. That turned out not to be the case at all, as if around Ellie grew an electric field, able to shock her and tangle all the particles inside of Tatiana. Once they get on stage, her proximity will be unavoidable, she realizes. Her citrus scent and the quiet dangling of her earrings will be just a few steps away, certain to tease her memory and stir some deeply hidden sense of regret. A group approaches her, and she is infinitely grateful for the offered distraction. They ask about the process, the art of collaboration, the purpose. It’s a group of students writing an article on the importance of artistic collaboration, and they are desperate to get a quick interview. Tatiana agrees and tells them her perspective.
“Art forms like painting can be very individualistic, which has a good and a bad side. I think it’s wonderful to see a singular person’s vision, just laid out on the canvas, but of course, there are downsides of always creating alone.”
“What did you find the most rewarding, painting the project with someone else?”
Tatiana looks around, subconsciously looking for Ellie.
“Oh, well… One can definitely learn much from the experience. Possibly gain a new perspective to view one’s own art, one’s own approach.” She nods. “It all depends on the pair, to be honest. I think collaborations are something we should practice from time to time, to diversify our artistic experience.”
She excuses herself after this conclusion, feeling a slight distaste towards her words. She doesn’t believe that an artist necessarily should be doing anything. The only responsibility of the artist, in her mind, is to do their art justice.
She half-heartedly engages in conversation here and there, checking her watch frequently to see how much time she has left until the dreaded speech. The hall is slowly filling up, relaxing her nerves a little. The sea of people dressed fashionably flows beneath her paintings, and the scene looks quite glamorous, making her smile.
At last, the time comes.
Ellie and Tatiana make their way to the slightly elevated part of the room, and the light focuses on them sharply. For a moment, it seems as if the world is beyond the two, in the halo of light, Tatiana stands singled out with Ellie against the mass of shadow-covered figures, and time seems to slow down for a moment. She feels a spark of desire to take Ellie’s hand for encouragement, followed by the sobering realization of their current estrangement. Both of them seem to have been dancing the same dance, both avoiding each other’s gaze, passing around only a quiet hello. The entire affair seems hopeless to Tatiana, something gooey and unpleasant.
Ellie begins the speech, something they outlined together to be concise and to the point.
“We want to thank everyone who made this exhibition possible, especially George Kirsch,” here she points to George, and a round of applause fills the space for a moment, “and the wonderful staff of the gallery.”
Here Tatiana takes over. She clears her throat before elaborating upon their project’s vision.
“We had the honor of being approached by Mister Kirsch, due to the rising interest in our work—something we’re infinitely grateful for. The idea is simple: to expand our artistic horizons, we completed each other’s old, unrealized sketches. The process proved strenuous,” she couldn’t help but give Ellie a glance, “but after all, we’re both proud of our work and excited to let you explore it for yourselves. Enjoy your evening!” she finishes the brief speech, showered by a thunder of applause. Ellie and Tatiana nod their heads courteously, then disperse once more into the crowd, floating away from each other with a subtle urgency in their steps.
Walking around, Tatiana notices a group of young artists gathered around one of the paintings. She approaches, curious to hear their opinions. The painting is one of Ellie’s, depicting one of the swimming pool scenes. It’s a pastel-colored affair, large swaths of delicate blue enveloping a little girl. Her swimming cap is dreamy pink, matching the pinkish skin tone. She stands at the edge of the pool, looking down at the glistening water, pondering whether to jump in. The painting grips Tatiana’s heart a little, seeing the characteristic brush strokes around the pool’s edges, softening their harsh corners. Ellie painted this work while they were still together, and Tatiana remembers distinctly painting something right next to it. Ellie joked about the little girl looking a bit like a shrimp with all the pink tones, and they both laughed for ages about it.
To get her thoughts away from Ellie, she finally gets closer to the group to listen into their conversation.
“I like the juxtaposition of the pink with blue,” says some girl, not older than twenty. “I think the girl looks like she’s about to move, which adds a certain dynamism to the piece.”