Reputations

Art Gallery and a House Party

   

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 "My, my, my! Jane, look at you!"

    I held my arms out, unsure of what else to do. "Mia, it's a pleasure to see you," I smiled through the lie.

    Mia, the dark haired, pointy nosed woman who stood before me, was an artist agent. She knew I loved art--in almost any form--and she had a very obvious inkling that I had an artist's thumb...which I didn't. I came to events such as this for one reason and one reason only: to admire artwork. I had no interest in trying to discover my hidden, or lack of talent.

    "Look, I won't lie," Mia dropped her smile. "I seriously have a canvas and paint in the back right now. I want to see your skills." Her face was that of a stone.

    "I'm sorry?" I feigned stupidity. 

    Her eyebrow twitched. Unamused. I sighed in defeat. "Mia, I can't paint. I can't paint a stickman."

    She made a huge flourish with her arms, the flowy sleeves of her gown illuminating her movements. "Jane, did  any one artist paint a stickman here?"

    I sighed deeply. She had a very good point. "Mia, I'm sorry. I'm not going to paint." I turned then, cutting off her chance to reply, and continued on to admire the masterpieces. One in particular caught my eye. 

    It looked like a cowgirl with classic cowboy boots on. She seemed to be doing one of two things, roping or sowing seeds. You couldn't see her face, but her big curly hair had been tied back into a ponytail under her cowboy hat. 

    The painting was beautiful,with many many colors filling the canvas. I was half way into trying to decide the artist's message when I heard music. Piano music filled the walls of the gallery, and I looked around for the piano itself. I followed the beautiful music, recognizing the piece as Clair de Lune. 

    I finally saw the piano; long and sleek and black in color. I didn't care much for the look of the instrument, but to be this close to the source of the colorful tune made my heart feel like it was swelling. 

    A young man sat at the piano bench, his fingers effortlessly gliding over the keys. His eyes only opened every few moments to watch his own fingers before closing right back up again, oblivious to the world and the people around him. There was no sheet music in front of him, but the notes seemed to flow from deep within his heart. 

    I watched, mesmerized by both the beauty of the young man and the piece he played so delicately. His dirty blond hair had been carefully combed to present himself in an air of professionalism, to match his suit. His face was a structure of well put lines and angles, it seemed to be a masterpiece of its own. 

    Oh my gosh, did I really just think that of an actual human being?? I also took note that, as I watched the boy play so well, my mouth had been hanging wide open, as though my jaw had been caught off it's hinges. I closed it tight. My feet were killing me and I wanted to go to the hotel and just rip off my heels and lay in bed with my own commentary of the artwork running through my head. Is that too much to ask for?

    I was still staring at the man's face intently. His eyebrows did this cute thing every once in a while--each time the notes gave a slight uncertainty--his eyebrows would knit together for a thousandth of a second before righting themselves. Then, looking into his eyes, I began wondering if his eyes were naturally that blue, or if he was wearing special contact lenses.