Chapter Seven
I t took no time at all to get to the venue. The exhibition wasn’t for another two hours, and I had plenty of time to get set up. Carla and Liz were already there, fussing over this and that, but they greeted with open arms, hugging me tight. I wasn’t expecting the hug, but it was nice all the same. Some days I was so touch-starved that I’d cuddle against my blankets, rubbing the fuzzy fabric against my arms.
“Owen Harper, look at you! You look like such the artist. I love it. Love the hair,” Liz said, gently tugging at a hanging wave.
“Thanks,” I said, not used to this kind of attention from anyone other than Anne Marie, and she didn’t count. Anne Marie would say anything to get a rise out of anyone. My face heated and they grinned at me.
“We’ve got this wall set up for you. I thought you would be bringing your pieces by yesterday, so I have to say you gave us quite the scare,” Carla said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize–”
“It’s fine, someone should have called you, to let you know all the details,” Liz said, narrowing her eyes playfully at Carla. Her sheepish smile told me this was not the first or last time this conversation would happen.
“This whole wall?” I said, trying to get the focus to shift away from whatever little spat was happening.
“Yes sir. You obviously don’t have to use every square inch. The white space will help to make the images really pop. Let’s see what you’ve brought us,” Carla said, gesturing to the bags I lugged in. They were unwieldy art cases, but they did the trick. The bubble wrapped canvases leaned against an ugly–but probably fashionable–white leather chair. It looked misshapen, like it was melting and this was the moment of the chair’s death.
“The other artist that we planned on having today had to back out, so we’re doubly glad that you’re here. This event is going to be all yours, Owen,” Liz said.
“Wait, the whole event–”
“Will feature you and only you. How marvelous is that? How old are you? Twenty-something? This is a dream come true Owen. Sure, we’re a small gallery, but having your own event? It’s something to be proud of,” she continued.
“I don’t know what to say,” I answered honestly. It was a freak accident, sure, but it was still happening. This was going to be my showing. I almost wished that I brought her. What would people say if they saw her? Would she haunt their dreams and waking thoughts like she does me?
Would someone else look at her and be able to know her real name?
“Umm, I have a question. Do… do I have to sell every piece here? Like, could I display one that I was planning to keep?”
“It’s your event Owen, of course. It’s a little unconventional, but I don’t see why not,” Carla said, waving my concerns away.
“Then I need to run back to my place. Do I have time? ”
“Yes, just be quick. Can you give us instructions on where and how to display your works?” Liz looked at the bags I had, and she started in on one of the canvases, peeling the wrapping away.
“Oh… oh my. Owen, this is beautiful. There’s so much emotion in the waves. You can feel them surging toward the shore,” Liz said, and Carla came to join her. The vision of it all came to me in a wave, and I smiled. I could see it then, knowing that my mermaid would be at the center of it all.
I explained how the sea animals needed to be positioned, leading the audience forward, the smallest pieces on the farthest walls, drawing them into the center, where two of the large walls met. She would be at the center, positioned at the corner to draw them in.
Alternating with frequency and height the stills of just the shore lines, so it looked like the view would be moving into deeper water. Carla mentioned getting blue lights splash on the walls and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. It would be perfect .
I raced home–they understood what I wanted, and now I just needed to bring her here. The largest painting that I had of her, so she could sit grandly in the center, and the world would see where my heart lived outside of my chest.
There wasn’t a moment in my life I was happier than this: my art, my dreams, my actual dreams were coming forward and for once, it wouldn’t just all be in my head.
The ride to my apartment was short–maybe I was too amped to notice the time–and I crashed through the door. I had the painting in the same position in my apartment that I envisioned in the studio. It was perfect–the lighting, the pose, the colors. Everything about this painting brought me joy, and I was beyond ready to show her off, knowing that I didn’t have to sell the painting. That this piece of me could be seen and still be mine .
By the time I got back to the studio, Carla and Liz had most of the pieces arranged.
I nearly dropped the mermaid painting.
“That was quick! You must have flown. Let’s see this grand finale,” Liz said.
I carried her over to where I wanted her positioned, and they set up an easel. She needed to be on an easel, not mounted on the wall. That felt wrong, like I was mounting a prize instead of admiring her beauty.
I wanted this moment to last in my mind, so I took my time positioning her before I pulled off the final covering. I let the white, paint-splattered fabric pool around the easel, because that’s how it was at home. It was fitting. It was right.
“What do you think?” I asked, turning to Liz and Carla. They stood there, wide eyed but smiling. Liz started to reach for her hair, but then stopped. It looked real. I took the thinnest brushes I had to stencil in each hair. It took me days, but the effect was stunning. I knew my art was good; I didn’t like bragging about it, but this was my talent.
This piece would forever be on another level. She was so real, so vivid it looked like she could have been a photograph. Her pink hair and pink lips were so alive with emotion, that every time I looked at her, it broke my fucking heart.
“Are you sure you won’t sell her? Because I would gladly buy this piece,” Carla said.
“No, I don’t think I could ever sell this one,” I said.
“What’s the name of the piece?” Liz asked. She didn’t even look at me, inching closer and closer to the painting, the pull of her beauty capturing Liz too.
“I’ve never named her, I’ve always just called this painting her. ”
“I think that’s the painting’s name, Owen. Her . Just Her ,” Carla said gently and I knew then that she was right. No name I gave this piece would ever be right. It was her. It was always her.
Looking around the exhibition, seeing my works hanging on the walls, with the lights shining on them made my eyes shine with tears. This was the best day of my life.
“Is it too late to name the exhibition?” I asked.
“We wouldn’t be able to change any of the invites but we could put a small sign up–”
“ Her Symphony ,” I said, and I knew in my heart that this was what I was meant to create. They nodded, looking around the room, feeling the ocean’s magic in my drawings and paintings and scribbles. They all came together to make Her Symphony.
“Remember this moment, Owen. No matter what happens, remember this moment,” Carla said. The light shifted, something sparkling through the window–probably just a car passing by–but everyone turned to look back at Her . The hair on my arms stood up and a chill went down my spine.
She looked like she was breathing, like she was alive.