Thirteenth
745 Words
“Thank you Mrs. Lewis for the help,” Clay turns her key to the lock, which clicked and opened to her apartment, that she hadn’t yet gotten a chance to clean. She’s embarrassed at the sight of it- there were materials everywhere, dried paint brushes on her workplace- sometimes making art can really get messy.
What a bad impression-- especially since cleaning is her job at the company, and her supervisor is very, very particular about it.
“Sorry, I haven’t gotten a chance to clean this place yet,” she explains, though she doesn’t know why.
“It’s fine. I’m not nagging you about what you do in your place,” the old woman looked almost like she was about to laugh, as she emphasized that it was Clay’s apartment.
“Yeah, right…” Clay says awkwardly.
“Are you an artist?” the supervisor walks towards her work area, seemingly curious.
She shrugs, “I paint, I do art.” She humbles herself as she doesn’t know if one is called an artist in this area without any professional evaluation yet.
“Is it just a hobby?” she questions.
“No, I’m practicing to make it as a career ma’am.”
“You’re works… they are good,” the old woman says, she puts her hand near the painting that Clay has just done, tracing it without touching, “every stroke in here, I see they are well thought out… Like you are writing a story.”
“Wow, thank you,” Clay is amazed, the supervisor talks about art like she knows it herself. “ Do you paint?”
“I do,” she smiled sadly, “left it a long time ago. Now it’s just a hobby.”
“Why’d you stop?” Clay couldn’t help but ask.
“Life had different plans for me,” she says, though there wasn’t any regret in her voice, even when it seemed sad. Clay could not comprehend losing art, it’s the only way she can express the chaos that is inside.
Clay disagrees, “art is never just a hobby for us.”
“That’s true, I guess,” the old woman nodded after a moment, “I just don’t have the time anymore.”
“Do you have any advice for me?”
“You’ve got great potential. Your technique is good, it’s precise and it complements every other element in your piece, it’s even better than mine… and technically, that’s excellent…” Janet trails on.
“But?” anticipation makes the blonde impatient.
“Let your imagination run wild, Ms. Cassidy,” she says with her voice firm, “not everything should be perfect- It should be messy, chaotic, disorganized, with numerous mistakes. There’s no limitations to art.”
“Though I think you had that problem figured out already,” the old woman said as her eyes went over to the materials that Clay has just bought on her table, to which Clay smiles.
“I could not believe you just said it’s okay to be messy,” Clay quipped, letting herself be her for a moment, almost forgetting who she was talking to.
Janet laughs, genuinely laughs. Clay finds it almost the same as how her mother does, and she can’t help but smile too.
“Not at work, child,” Janet stated amusedly as her laughter had died down.
“My professors are from the most prestigious galleries here in New York,” Janet added, an idea on her mind, “would you like me to introduce you?”
“Oh,” her mouth turns a perfect O, she did not expect that and she finds herself speechless, “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s amazing, thank you so much,” she’s so happy, she’s torn between crying and hugging, or both.
“Don’t cry now, it’s no problem,” the supervisor shrugs it off as if it was no big deal, “all I would do is tell them about you. You’re the one who will need to impress them, old folks. They are very particular.”
“I’m good with particulars,” the excited blonde says. Even when she’s nagged at times, she does her job at the company better than anyone else. “I’ll do my best.”
“I hope you will,” the old woman says, adding, “let’s go?”
Clay smiles genuinely, “alright.”
- Writer
