Passion Blue by Strauss Victoria

Author:Strauss, Victoria [Strauss, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-11-06T06:00:00+00:00

The workshop was an enormous rectangular space, entirely open. From her stool on the balcony, which jutted out like the prow of a boat from one end, Giulia could indeed see everything, but was herself concealed from view unless someone looked up.

Much was familiar—the drafting tables, the shelves of pigment materials, the preparation area where apprentices were grinding colors, the mixed smells of smoke, wood, glue, and exotic materials. But much was strange, for as Angela had said, Matteo Moretti made not just paintings, but furniture and gold and silver goods—a full range of luxury items for the nobles and monasteries that were his patrons. The workshop was a chaotic hive of activity, with men and boys laboring at various tasks and rushing back and forth. Equipment and materials were everywhere, scattered on surfaces, tossed on the floor, pushed carelessly into corners along with piles of trash and debris. Despite the open doors and windows, dust opaqued the air. The din of tools and voices reminded Giulia of the clamor of the market.

In the center, where light streamed down through the roof openings, several painters worked on a large panel set up in front of a meticulously composed live tableau. A man knelt in prayer, clad only in a loincloth, his face raised as if in pain or ecstasy. Near him lay a woman, wrapped in a red robe that left her arms bare. Above them, suspended from a harness, a long-haired boy in flowing garments stretched down his arms, a huge pair of feathered wings bound to his back. Humilità used models and costumes too—there had been a procession of them lately, as she prepared for the San Giustina commission—but never anything so elaborate.

Obeying the familiar tingling in her fingers, Giulia took up the charcoal Humilità had left and began to sketch. At first she tried to draw the tableau as if she were standing on the floor below, but not only was that difficult, it didn’t capture what she found interesting about the scene. She crumpled the paper and started again. She would draw exactly what she saw: not a man and a woman and an angel, but models posing and artists at their work.

It was stifling under the roof. Giulia’s hands were sticky, and she had to pause to wipe sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. The talisman absorbed her body heat. She could feel the chain, a warmth at the back of her neck, and the stone, hot where it lay on the skin of her chest, just below the little pouch that held her horoscope fragment. Too hot, now she thought of it—hot enough to be uncomfortable. She put down the charcoal and curled her fingers around it—

“Giulia.”

The voice, soft and urgent, came from behind her. It startled her so much that she jumped to her feet, letting out a yelp of fright.

She turned, and froze. Standing only a few steps away was the repairer of frescoes, Ormanno Trovatelli, whom she had never thought to see again.

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