8. Chapter Eight #3
“Merci and thank you, Claude and Soline.” She had a refined, soft voice.
“As you know we are famous for our collections of impressionist artwork, among the many other fine art pieces on display. Impressionism is a style of painting that details modern life in the late 19th century. The movement originated in and around Paris. And while Impressionists had may varying styles they all shared an interest in portraying people enjoying life outdoors, painting landscapes and scenes that captured the effects of sunlight in the open air rather than a studio. Claude Monet was one of the most famous developers of this form of painting but there are many others such as Renoir, Degas, and Cezanne. This oil is a rather striking work that will lead you to your second assignment parameters.” She turned to whisk the silken cloth off the oil.
On the plinth, resting on a small easel, sat an old, old oil of a man clasping his hands over his mouth as he sat on a park bench with two young women on either side of him.
He seemed to be trying to keep some sort of news to himself as the women in frilly bonnets were leaning in close, as if to divulge some juicy gossip.
His eyes were round, dark, and riddled with misery.
“This is by a relatively unknown artist of the time named Lucien Bonnard. He had great talent but sadly died before his twenty-fourth birthday of cholera. This is one of his most well-known works. It is called “Garder Le Silence” and that is a large hint for you all!”
Speculation ran wild as the cameras closed in on us.
“Thank you, Madame la Présidente.” Soline set her spectacular eyes on us.
“As you may or may not have guessed this assignment is all about silence.” Uhm.
Oh-kay. What the hell did that mean? “Your second task is La Mode Muette. The silent fashion show. You are not allowed to speak during the creative process.” We all gaped at her, then Claude, and then at each other.
“The theme is the unspoken language of fashion. Your final pieces must speak for themselves with a clear emotional or political narrative. You will have an hour to sketch. You’ll be supervised and anyone speaking to anyone else will automatically be eliminated from this assignment.
There is to be no talking while you are in the workroom.
We want your creativity to shine through silence. ”
Claude glanced from one shocked face to the next. “Now that you know the assignment you will be given an hour to bring your designs to life on the page outside along the banks of the Seine. Remember creative isolation plus symbolism equals drama.”
“Off you go little ducks. Go sit by the water and let your imaginations quietly guide you!” Soline called out as we raced back to the van to get our sketchbooks.
None of us spoke to each other as we spread out along the left bank of the Seine, asses on cool gray steps, heads bowed over our drawing pads.
The air was chilly as it blew in off the water.
With my colored pencils at my side a women in a dark blue cashmere trench coat appeared on the paper.
High collar shirt with a tie under a linen coat which was worn under the trench coat.
Sleek trousers perhaps merino wool with a sharp crease.
Her shoes and bag hadn’t come to me yet but her outfit was definitely inspired by something in that man in the painting’s eyes.
Maybe it was just me but I saw pain in his gaze while he fought to keep something huge from breaking forth as the world around him – the two young women – chattered away as if the world were not shattering around him. Much like I’d felt when my father died.
I blinked at the realization. Sitting up straight my back cracked after being humped over the sketchpad for so long.
I found Mickey on the bottom step, his brow resting on one hand while he drew with his other, his red hair tumbled into his face.
The others were also concentrating on their sketches.
Among us roamed several members of the crew as well Claude, who was walking Pamplemousse on a tiny little leash.
Where Soline had gone I didn’t know. Claude looked over at me as he climbed the stairs.
He inclined his head as his dog trotted along at his side, looking very dapper in his doggie vest. Something about the man held me captivated as he started to make his way in my direction then stopped when his ex-husband arrived to capture his attention.
With a sigh I watched as the mix of gentle curiosity and warmth faded to what I could only call disgust.
They walked off deep in a tense conversation.
I sat back down to watch a pair of cormorants paddling along the water without a care in the world.
I looked back to see Claude and Carlton were no longer talking they were arguing.
Claude picked up his dog and stormed off leaving Carlton standing by a streetlamp with his hands fisted at his sides.
Whatever they’d been fighting about had turned ugly real fast.
Pity the no talking rule didn’t apply to ex-husbands.