One Year Ago in Spain by Evelyn Skye

Author:Evelyn Skye [Skye, Evelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2024-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Claire

“Thank you for coming out here,” Claire said. “I didn’t expect to end up in Malasaña when I chased after Vega.”

“It is no problem,” Armando said. “It was not my turn to sit in Matías’s room anyway, and I understand why you would want to visit his studio, especially if you are already in the neighborhood.”

Together, they walked up to the sleek white building that housed a number of artist workspaces. It was only one story, but tall and long, and when they stepped through the gated entry, Claire was surprised to find a sunny garden full of orchids and ferns. All the studios had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the plants; if Claire had to guess, the windows were all north facing, to let in the best light. It was something Matías had missed in his studio in New York, where—without the right sort of windows—he’d had to rig his own artificial lighting with photography lights and reflectors.

“Matías’s studio is at the end,” Armando said, pointing in the direction of a cluster of yellow orchids. The shades on his windows were drawn, though, so Claire couldn’t see inside.

Armando scanned a key fob and let them into the building, then down the corridor. The doors were all white, too, with nameplates or signs on them to indicate who worked there.

“Is it only painters here, or other kinds of artists?” Claire asked.

“Only painters,” Armando said. “The landlady says potters and sculptors are either too messy when they work with clay or too loud when they work with stone. Do not worry. You will not see Vega here.”

Claire bit her lip, thankful that he’d understood her insecurity without her having to express it out loud. Then she realized she’d been silly to even worry about Vega. If her studio was here, too, she wouldn’t have seemed sad about not having access to the building.

When they reached Matías’s studio, though, Claire’s thoughts of Vega faded. Because the sign on the studio was his familiar signature, Matías de León, in elegant, looping penmanship with the accent marks somehow expressing exuberance in the way he dashed them upward, longer than necessary, like fireworks shooting up into the sky just moments before bursting. Seeing his autograph made Claire smile and want to cry at the same time.

Armando unlocked the door and held it open for Claire. She stepped in, expecting to see tubes of paint everywhere, half-finished work on easels, used rags and still life models all over the floor, and the general chaos that surrounded Matías’s process. But instead of chaos and the usually ubiquitous stink of solvent in the air, it was mostly empty.

Some old drawings were taped to the walls, with blank panels of wood stacked beneath them, but there were no partially used tubes of oil paint scattered anywhere. It still smelled like solvent and linseed oil, but the scent was faint. Eleven months old.

Claire stared open-mouthed at the pristine space.

“It’s strangely…tidy.”

“He took much of his work with him to the United States,” Armando said.

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