Chapter Seventy-Eight Poppy
| Seventy-Eight |
Poppy
Savannah arrives soon. I invited her to the opening of my new exhibit.
We’re still working on our relationship.
There’s a lot of history to unravel, and having some space between us is healthy.
I’ve spent a few weekends in New York: emotional, draining, but healing, and we’re finding our way back to each other.
It’s still unfathomable to me that Bennett tried to kill me.
I would like to believe that what he did, he did in a moment of panic.
Temporary insanity. Our connection felt so real, and if it was all an act, then how can I ever trust my instincts again?
He was the love of my life. Yes, he could be controlling, and he wanted to be the sun around which everyone in his life orbited.
But he could also be tender and kind. Brilliant and funny.
And oh so sexy. But I would never risk letting him near my child after that.
Maybe there’s a potential killer lurking in all of us, just waiting for the right trigger.
I can understand killing to protect those you love.
I would kill for my daughter. But killing to protect your reputation, your legacy, that’s something I hope never to understand.
Savannah keeps saying that she now believes Bennett used her as a substitute for me.
I don’t tell her that the ring she wears used to be mine.
It’s too cruel. It’s ironic that the same man who caused us both so much pain has become the vehicle to reunite us.
I decided to stay in New Mexico and moved to Santa Fe.
I love it here. The wide-open skies painted in colors so vivid it’s hard to believe they’re real.
The mountains and mesas, the adobe architecture.
It’s all enchanting to me. I don’t miss the East Coast at all.
I can’t wait for Savannah to get here. This is my most personal work yet and I’m excited to share it with her.
I reread the advance press preview article, and a smile breaks out on my face all over again.
Artforum Preview—November Issue
Poppy Morningside: “Borrowed Voices” at SITE Santa Fe
A new voice is being heard in the art world.
Poppy Morningside’s installation, Borrowed Voices, grapples with questions of originality, technology, and identity in the age of artificial intelligence.
The interactive installation invites visitors to walk through a tunnel where text fragments taken from classic and contemporary novels as well as computer-generated text fragments will overlap each other and at times intersect, splintering into new narratives.
Haunting audio from multiple sources competes, collides, and cancels itself out.
Photocopied pictures of canonical artwork are cut and reassembled into collaged “new designs.” AI-generated images, accompanied by their text prompts, hang alongside original drawings rendered in colored pencil.
When asked what inspired the piece, Ms. Morningside said she wanted to get people thinking about the cost of forsaking originality for profit. Asked what she hoped visitors would take away from the installation, she replied, “I don’t want to tell anyone what to think. That’s the point.”
I hear a knock at the door. She’s here! I’d offered to pick her up, but she insisted on hiring a car, reminding me that now that she’s a bestselling author she can easily afford it.
The scales have tipped in her favor, at least in terms of outward success.
But I’m good with that. My art will never command the kind of money her books will.
At least I don’t think it will. That’s not why I do it.
I never want to feel the pressure to be popular, to be less than authentic because I’ve allowed my art to turn into a commodity.
Some would say that it’s easy for me to say that, inheriting Bennett’s sizable estate.
I’m not living a life of luxury. It’s not what I want.
I established a trust for Millie. We’re comfortable, and for that I’m grateful.
I bought a home that I love in a great neighborhood where my daughter will have friends to play with and a good school to attend.
It’s a very different life than the one we’ve been living, but I’m ready to reenter the world.
Some of the old habits I’m keeping. I don’t have a cell phone.
If someone wants to get in touch, they have to do it the old-fashioned way and call my landline.
I do have email, a necessity for my work.
I’ve used part of my inheritance to establish a foundation that provides art lessons for underserved communities.
I’ve started an after-school program with healthy snacks, art teachers, a game room, and a playground where we welcome students from kindergarten all the way up to seniors in high school, a place to come and learn, play, and express themselves.
I love spending time there and seeing the light in a child’s eyes when they see what they’ve created.
Everyone should have the opportunity to nurture their talents, whatever they may be.
I open the door and Savannah walks in. She glows. Success looks good on her. I open my arms and she gives me a hug.
“Come in. It’s so good to see you!”
She puts her suitcase down and looks around. “You too! It’s beautiful here. I can see why you love it. Where’s my girl?”
“At a neighbor’s. You’ll have time to catch up tomorrow. She’s too young to take to an art show! We have time for some tea and a chat before we have to go. Come on into the kitchen.”
I make her a cup of cinnamon tea, her favorite, and make myself one too. “How was your flight?”
“Noneventful, fortunately! Are you nervous about tonight?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’m proud of it, so I’m not too worried about what others will think.”
“I’m trying to be more like you,” Savannah says. “My therapist says I need to own my power. Stop giving it away. This is going to sound so…I don’t know…superficial.”
“What?”
“I showed her a picture of the two of us. I couldn’t stop going on about how gorgeous you are, so much more than me, and she gave me this look, like I was crazy.” Her voice catches and she blinks back tears.
I wait for her to finish. “She pointed out that we’re both beautiful.
Just different. And all I could hear was Mom saying how I have Dad’s nose, and the Morningside freckles like it was some sort of disease.
And I realized the only thing holding me back all those years was confidence.
Her voice in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough.
And always comparing our looks.” She takes a sip of her tea, shaking her head.
“Like being beautiful is all that matters. It’s so stupid.
It should be about who we are, what we do.
Our hearts. Not our looks. Why have I been so focused on that? ”
I sigh. “Being made to compete in beauty pageants, for one. And society, I guess. But your therapist is right. You are beautiful. And talented! And for the record, I always wished I had your nose. But we don’t have to be defined by our childhoods.
I’m so glad you’re seeing someone who can help you. Therapy helped me a lot.”
“Better late than never, I guess.”
“So, what are you going to write next?”
Savannah smiles. “You know the story that Bennett told me was unoriginal? The same one he was going to steal?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve just signed a three-book deal for a series. Seems my martial arts, gun-wielding character is not so cliché after all. My publisher thinks the world will fall in love with her.”
“That must make you feel so great. You finally have everything you’ve ever wanted. You’re a bestselling author!”
Savannah shakes her head. “That’s only part of what I’ve always wanted.”
“Oh?”
She takes both of my hands in hers. “Having my sister back, in my heart of hearts, that’s what was missing all this time. And I have an idea for a project we can both work on.”
I smile at her. “BFSs forever?”
“BFSs forever.”