Gone by White Randy Wayne

Author:White, Randy Wayne [White, Randy Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2012-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

TOO STUBBORN TO ASK NATHAN TO EXPLAIN HIS REMARK about Olivia Seasons’s paintings, I remained silent as I followed my friend out the private entrance, past the orchid house, then into a one-room studio that felt smaller because its windows were shuttered.

“See?” Nathan said, pulling the door closed. “She didn’t want anyone peeking in here. That alone should tell you something.”

I didn’t reply. In appearance and mood, the studio was the polar opposite of the orderly rooms where Olivia lived. It was a chaos of color and canvases, most of them stretched on frames, several sitting unfinished on easels, many more hanging limp as animal skins, tacked as a patchwork mosaic on every wall. The space had a nice odor of linseed oil and wood, but it did nothing to disperse the atmosphere of shadows and secrecy.

Voice low, Nathan said, “Personally, I think she’s pretty freakin’ good. The orchid stuff, she was copying Georgia O’Keeffe, that’s obvious. But her original stuff—it looks pretty recent—she’s a troubled girl, but she’s got talent. You mind if I take some shots to show Darren?”

I shook my head no and hissed, “Shush!” which froze Nate where he stood.

For more than a minute, I stood motionless, letting my eyes adjust, allowing details to come into my head without seeking anything in particular. Even in silence, the room echoed with Olivia’s presence, a frantic energy that had been trapped inside these four walls even as she, using paint and brushes, had sought to escape from . . . from . . . from what in my soul I felt to be the truth . . . or at least suspected was true.

Even so, I tried to comfort myself with answers that were easier, less personal. Had Olivia painted such sensual, potent images to escape the captivity of her father’s home? His wealthy friends? Escape the boredom of a life that provided her with everything yet demanded nothing?

Yes. That was an important point—a separate truth that had not yet registered in my heart because such an existence was outside my experience. Growing up wealthy, I realized in that instant, was dangerous for an outsider like Olivia—as it would have been for me. It might be a clear advantage for women who grew comfortably into their own skins, who inherited confidence as naturally as I’d inherited size 10 feet. But for a young girl who was awkward and shy, wealth might rob her of the need to fit in with the outside world, as well as the strength and gradual courage required to strike out on her own, and make a living.

Beside me, Nathan asked softly, “You okay?” He was asking for permission to at least move, if not talk.

I nodded. “I needed some time, that’s all. I didn’t expect this.”

“There’s nothing crude about her work,” Nathan, the boyfriend of an artist said, defending an artist I already empathized with more than he would ever understand. “They’re impressionistic . . . sensual,” he added. “Sure, obviously sexual, too. Lots of frustration .

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