28. Cotton Candy and Bubblegum
TWENTY-EIGHT
Avery pacedthe hall outside Mindy’s office and checked her watch before she knocked. This time, she requested her appointment through the correct channels. This time, Mindy smiled when she saw her.
“Avery, sit. I got your message about next semester. What’s up?”
“Since everything was pre-assigned this term, I haven’t registered for classes here before, ever, and I wondered if you can help me with some of that.”
“The registration website walks you right through it,” Mindy said. “You and I will make up the list of classes you want and sort of sketch out which sections will schedule best together, and you sign up.”
“But what if a class fills up before it’s my turn to register?”
“We always make sure to get you into the classes you need for your program. Sometimes it takes a little shuffling, but that’s why you have me. The other instructors and I always work together on those things.”
“It’s not really a class I need. Just one I want. I really, really want it.” Avery tapped a link on her tablet and pushed it across Mindy’s desk. “I know it’s a three-hundred level and maybe it will be too hard. Maybe they’ll offer it next year, right? But it caught my eye, and I didn’t want to miss out.”
Mindy scanned the webpage with the class details. French Neo-classical Art and Architecture, a three-hundred level art history survey course, was a new offering, and its enrollment and feedback would determine whether it would be offered again.
“I can see why this appeals to you,” Mindy said, handing back the tablet. “Charleston, the Winter Palace, Versailles. Your senior exhibition in high school was fantastic. What did you end up doing with all of those pieces? I only saw the photos in your portfolio.”
Avery fidgeted. “I don’t have them anymore.”
“What did you do with them?”
“All the senior shows were eligible for auction at the artist’s discretion, and it was set up through the gallery in Stamford where we presented them. The gallery owner asked if I’d go the auction route and I said yes, since I needed the money for school. He said he had some connections who he thought would be interested.”
She felt Mindy’s gaze on her and caught herself slumping. “I shouldn’t be sad about it,” she said, lifting her shoulders. “How many artists my age have sold a piece in a real gallery auction, right? I’ve sold eight. That’s a big accomplishment, and I’m proud of it.”
“You certainly should be proud. You just looked a little wistful.”
“It helped get me here. Creativity is its own currency. That’s all that matters.”
“How did you develop that series?” Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes as she recalled the photos. “Which was your favorite?”
Avery pushed her hair off her face and behind her ears, considering. “Versailles was the inspiration piece for the techniques and the layering. I did that one about ten times before I moved on, so it was not my favorite. The Winter Palace was special because we were learning about the early twentieth century in history class and so I sort of had a feeling about people and a story there. Then the Roman coliseum… did you notice my coliseum was pink?”
“It looked like strawberry taffy. That was hard to miss.”
“Bloodstains. That’s what you get when you try to wash out fresh blood. A lovely, light pink with a smidge of ochre. The silver leaf was for the weaponry and chains.”
Mindy’s jaw hung open for a moment, and she collected herself. “Do the other pieces have similar meanings?”
“Notre Dame Cathedral is centered around that cotton-candy blue and the metallic gold, for the Virgin Mary. The Palace at Versailles is lemony and sour, with a wash of pink in the front, and gold for the crown. I drew white bubblegum bubbles all around it because of how fragile happiness was there. The Winter Palace is that beautiful, bright mint with white and gold trim and almost perfect on its own, but it was stormed during the October Revolution in 1917, and that had me thinking about fall colors in pastels, so it’s got peach and pink and lemon worked in. A lot of pink, because the Bloody Sunday massacre happened right there only a few years before.”
Avery counted on her fingers. “What else? The Duomo, a Russian Orthodox cathedral, a Bavarian castle, and the Cologne Cathedral. Cologne was probably the hardest, but it meant the most.”
Mindy’s fingers flew across her keyboard to bring up a photo. “Why?”
“It took a lot of bomb hits from Allied planes during World War Two, and the restoration is still ongoing. Scaffolding is just part of the structure now. I used it as sort of a foil to the piece on Notre Dame, where it’s this lovely, peaceful blue and gold. In Cologne, there’s peach and lemon fire in the sky and pink across the mint-green grass. Silver leaf for the planes.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m sure it was the hardest because I was feeling pretty beat-up myself. Making scaffolding out of tiny lollipops forced me to think about rebuilding and restoring and…”
She trailed off.
“I’m impressed with the breadth of your selections for that series, Avery, and the thought you put into the colors,” Mindy said. “It all presents as so light and fluffy and fun, but the intent requires the audience to take a history lesson. It seems like people could enjoy these pieces just for being pretty on a superficial level, but your technique and intent elevate them.”
“Do the photos in my portfolio show how they were displayed?” Avery asked. “I can’t remember what I sent. I had photos of just the canvases, but the display was so fun.”
“I think I just saw canvases.”
“I did candy tables. Cotton candy and rock candy and fill-your-own bags for jellybeans. I really did a lollipop scaffolding around the Cologne Cathedral. The canvases were presented under shimmery, clear plastic like a gift basket wrapper. I had to find just the right plastic to see through, but it had to add to the effect. I found one that looked a little like a rainbow where it caught the light.”
“If you have photos of the presentation, I’d love to see them. Do you have any samples of your writing that I could look at?” Mindy tapped at her computer again. “Three-hundred level art history classes usually have a significant writing component. I love your enthusiasm and will be happy to help you get in, if you’re at the right level to do the work and enjoy it. If you’re not prepared yet, that’s okay. Lower-lever survey courses will get your writing in shape if that’s what you need, and we’ll find another course like this later.”
“I went to a fine arts magnet school, so I had an art history class and some essays. I also have the piece I wrote to accompany the exhibition. Could I send you those for a look?”
“Absolutely. Get those to me this week, and let’s set a time to meet next week and finalize your spring coursework.”
“Mindy?”
“Yes?”
Avery pushed her hair behind her ears. “Thanks for understanding about my colors. It’s such a dumb blonde stereotype with the candy and bubblegum colors and everything’s light and pretty and fun. People sometimes think I’m not serious about what they represent. Ha ha, the pretty pink means blood, yeah, right.”
“You’re not dumb, Avery. You’re lemony and peachy and cotton candy, but that’s your energy. You’re a thoughtful artist, and I bet those candy baskets were empty after your show.”
“They were.” Avery cracked a smile.
“Mass appeal doesn’t make art less valuable. A confectioner can spend hours on something fancy and have someone eat it in a bite and say ‘wow, that was tasty,’ and go grab a Snickers. Artists run the same risk when we make something superficially pretty. People might consume it only for the prettiness.”
“I wonder sometimes if I even have it in me to create out of a more obvious pain,” Avery said. “Red instead of pink. Sharp edges. Maybe I try too hard to make everything pretty and just end up covering up the hurt and calling it symbolism.”
“Hurt takes many forms. And colors.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to create something about losing my brother. Something for him. A think piece about lifejackets and hypothermia, blues and oranges, or the glory of football, or… I don’t know. Maybe pink footballs is the best I can do.”
“I think that now that you’ve said it out loud, pink footballs won’t ever be enough. And it’s okay. Maybe that’s not how you cope with loss. What would you make for him if he were alive? What would make him laugh?”
Avery looked in her lap, hands fidgeting as she smiled. “He would have liked at my senior show. He was pretty simple about art. He liked it to make sense and be pretty and not have a bunch of hidden meanings, so I think he’d have enjoyed the architecture and the colors. And the candy.”
“Keep thinking pink then, if that’s the direction your heart leads you. Your timeline is open-ended. Maybe an entirely different project will end up healing some of that hurt by accident. It happens.”
“That would be a bonus.”
“And for your next show, I know a guy who sells MMs by the color. He’ll hook us up with your precise color scheme.”
Us. Avery’s cheeks flushed with excitement at the connection.
“Do you know if your pieces all went together at auction, or separately?”
“Together. And I’m not really sad. I could probably get one back if I truly wanted to, since the gallery owner knows this collector. He’s asked me to notify him when I do a show here, so that’s pretty exciting.”
“It is. Which one would you get back, if you could?” Mindy pressed. “Cologne Cathedral?”
Avery shook her head. “Nah. Boring old Versailles, the pain in my ass that started it all. But I won’t ask. That collection helped get me here. I don’t need to hold it in my hands ever again to appreciate what I’ve done.”
“May I ask how much the collection went for?”
“A semester’s tuition.” Avery lifted her chin. “I think the collector was over-generous and maybe felt sorry for me since all the student shows are for tuition, but maybe?—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t talk down your talent any more than you talk down your intellect. Bubblegum blonde girl is a valuable person and a skilled artist who has accomplished a lot. That is a huge sale, and you shouldn’t belittle it.”
“Thank you, Mindy. That means a lot to me. I don’t talk about my art much with anyone. I’m sorry if I’m rambling.”
“You’re not rambling. Have you made any friends in the program? Besides Cam, I mean.”
Avery grinned. “I’ll talk art with him. Cotton candy colors and rocks. We accept our stereotypes as dumb blonde and Neanderthal jock, and we have fun teaching each other.”
The moment she said it, a flush crept up her cheeks and scorched her face like a sunburn. She wanted to draw him and draw all over him, tracing her fingertips on his body while he raked his hands through her hair and down her back. The week since he first took her in his arms had been an exercise in clock management, stealing time to savor each other whenever his schedule allowed. It was enough because it had to be, but she craved him. She’d draw rock candy in his tattoo for how solid and sweet and mouth-watering he was.
“But other than that,” Avery continued, “not really. I hoped my roommate could be a good friend, and she’s nice, but she’s not really it. I thought Isaac and were going to be great friends, and that got way out of hand. I… well, my counselor pointed out that I have a history of short friendships I get really excited about and then that person kind of burns out on me. And she said I’m not to blame for people’s burnout and I shouldn’t be less than who I am, but it’s a lot to think about. It makes me nervous about Cam, like… enjoy it while you can.”
Her chin quivered.
“Avery. That’s a hard mindset to break, but I hope you know you should break it. Please make that one of your goals. You don’t deserve to limit yourself by thinking everyone will leave you. I hope that’s something you tackle soon.”
Mindy handed her a tissue, and Avery swiped fiercely at her red eyes before any tears welled. “I will. I’m going to. I’m going to sit down with Isaac and break down what went wrong, and I’m going to fix it if I can. For me and him, anyway. The rest is… well.”
She searched Mindy’s eyes as Justin’s name hung in the air. Avery wasn’t certain if Mindy had already written him off. After all, they had only been dating for a few weeks before the bonfire, and Justin was so tight-lipped about the entire thing, Avery had no clue whether he thought she was someone special who could be in his life long-term, or if they were both just having fun.
The loss of her role as Justin’s confidant stung. She wondered who he talked to about what happened. Cam said he apologized, but didn’t give details, and she respected his need to draw some lines around his friendship and his girlfriend. Justin had to talk to Isaac at practice, but more than a week had passed since the bonfire, and she hadn’t heard a word from her brother. Coupled with his silence before that awful night, they hadn’t really talked in almost a month.
Maybe she showed up to school, blew up his life, and fizzled out. A sparkler, or a sugar rush.
Mindy cleared her throat. “I know you’re seeing a counselor, but if you want, you can tell me how that goes.”
Avery nodded, whispered her thanks, and turned to leave.
“Cameron strikes me as a good balance to your energy,” Mindy said. “Maybe that’s something to think about when you consider friendships that survive or fade. Maybe you’re too much to double, but you’re not too much on your own.”
“That’s something to think about.”
“Avery. Remember that. You are not too much on your own.”
Avery
Can we meet for dinner tomorrow? Maybe not the cafeteria. We could go out and get a decent burger.
Isaac
I am always hungry for a decent burger. And maybe a popsicle.
Avery
The place we went before is closed for the season.
Isaac
We’ll buy a box at the store. I love popsicles.
Avery
So do I.
One down, one to go. She took a deep breath. It couldn’t hurt, and might help. Cameron said he was optimistic about Justin tackling some issues, and that was as far as he went explaining the conversation. It was enough.
Avery
I love you. No matter when you want to talk to me, no matter what.
He replied in seconds.
Justin
I love you too, Avie.
She pinched her fingers to her thumbs and stared until the screen went blank, then pocketed her phone and ordered herself not to think about it.