Soaring
The friends were all living the dream… but were they truly fulfilled, or had life clipped their creative wings?
Jenna!”
Jenna caught a flash of auburn amongst the straw hats and baseball caps and threaded her way through the disembarking passengers towards her friend. They hugged, laughed and hugged again.
“It’s great to see you, Mel.”
“You too. You look fantastic.”
Jenna laughed self-consciously and combed her fingers through her long blonde hair before rubbing at a paint stain on her jeans.
“Somehow, I don’t think anyone would have trouble guessing which one of us is the glossy magazine editor and which one’s the struggling artist.”
Mel deposited her bag gratefully in the boot of Jenna’s car.
“Do you mind if we take a detour before going home?” Jenna asked. “I’ve got pictures to deliver to the gallery.”
“Great – it’ll give me a chance to see some of the island.”
“Can you believe it’s five years since art school?” asked Jenna.
“And now here you are,” said Mel. “You and Philip, living your dream.”
“We love it here. Philip’s working on a new piece at the moment, trying to get as much done as he can before the students arrive tomorrow. He can’t really concentrate when they’re around.”
“I thought the courses were as much his idea as yours,” said Mel.
“They are,” said Jenna. “He’s a good teacher and he enjoys interacting with the students. He’s just not very practical.”
The car turned right and stopped at a small building overlooking the sea.
“We call it a gallery,” Jenna said, “but I suppose it’s really a glorified gift shop.”
“It’s beautiful, Jenna,” Mel said, gazing at the shimmering ocean before her. “What a setting. New York galleries have nothing on this.”
“Amanda stocks it with local arts and crafts,” said Jenna. “There’s a pottery on the other side of the island, and a young woman who makes amazing jewellery.”
“And paintings by you and Philip?”
“Oh, Philip doesn’t put anything into Amanda’s gallery.” Jenna dragged a box of canvases from the back seat. “His work isn’t commercial enough for the tourist market.”
“I wouldn’t have thought these were your type of thing either,” said Mel. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly, “they’re lovely, but…”
“I know,” Jenna sighed. “Sandcastles and cotton-wool clouds. It’s not the type of thing I dreamed of doing at college.”
Mel shrugged. “We all had our dreams. It was never my intention to work on a magazine. I only ever wanted to paint.
“But I’ve been too busy commenting on other people’s work, being wined and dined by agents hoping to get good reviews for their clients, to actually do any of my own.”
“But you’ve got your new job now, lecturing at the college,” said Jenna. “You’ll have more time to paint.”
“Hopefully,” Mel sighed. “But you know what they say – those who can do, and those who can’t teach.”
“Rubbish,” said Jenna, heading inside.
“The famous New York critic herself.” Amanda smiled warmly when Jenna introduced her friend.
“As from next month, I’m simply a humble teacher.”
“Hardly,” said Jenna. “You’ll be lecturing at one of the most respected art colleges in the country.”
“I never have any problem selling Jenna’s work,” said Amanda, unpacking Jenna’s box. “The visitors love them.”
As they were finally heading home Mel asked about the painting courses.
“They’re doing well,” said Jenna. “This is the last one of the season.
“The students will be so surprised to meet you. Mel Peterson – Assistant Editor and Art Critic for Colorito Magazine.”
“What are the students like?” Mel asked. “Serious artists? Hobby painters?”
“Both,” said Jenna. “Some hope to go to art school. Others are empty-nesters.”
“It must be a lot of work,” said Mel. “Running the courses and painting pictures for the tourists. Do you still have time to paint the things you
want to?”
“Does anyone ever get to do everything they want to?” asked Jenna. “But I can’t complain. I love living here. I love it in summer when it’s buzzing with holidaymakers, and I love it in winter when it’s grey and moody.”
Mel opened her window and breathed in long gulps of clean fresh air.
“New York already seems like a lifetime ago.”
Eventually Jenna turned the car into a wide courtyard next to a small, whitewashed cottage.
“Come and say hello to Philip,” Jenna said, leading the way to an outbuilding.
“Mel!” Philip immediately got up from his stool and hugged her. “Welcome to our island home.”
“I love it already,” Mel said.
“Jenna’s given me a quick tour. It’s wonderful. Inspirational.” She looked at the canvas on the easel. “It’s fabulous, Philip.”
He shrugged modestly. “It’s one of a set of four abstracts I’m exhibiting at a gallery on the mainland in the autumn.” Philip turned to Jenna. “Why don’t you show Mel the piece you’re working on?”
“It’s not finished,” Jenna said as they walked to her side of the studio. Jenna removed the cover from a canvas and revealed a painting of two seagulls flying high above a crashing metal-grey sea.
Mel gasped. “It’s amazing, Jenna. I can hear the waves lashing against the cliffs and the gulls screeching.”
“I’ve called it Soaring,” said Jenna. “Hopefully, I’ll have time to work on it again soon.”
“I keep telling her she has to make time,” said Philip.
“Easier said than done when we’ve got eight students to mentor over the next five days,” said Jenna.
“Do you provide meals?” Mel asked.
“Only a light lunch,” Jenna replied. “They’re billeted at various B&Bs on the island so they’ve all had a good breakfast before they arrive.
“Lunch is just home-made soup, sandwiches and fruit. It’s not nearly as much work as it sounds.”
Jenna took Mel to the cottage and showed her to her room.
“Just look at that view,” Mel sighed.
“I could stand here for hours and never get tired of it.”
They ate lunch outside, all three trying to talk at once.
“Do you remember…?
“Whatever happened to…?
“What was the name of that boy…?
Afterwards, Jenna showed Mel the workshop. It was already set up with easels and blank canvases. There was a long table containing glass jars holding paint brushes of varying sizes, and palettes and tubes of paint of every colour imaginable.
Outside, they sat on a wall overlooking the sea.
Mel told Jenna about her life in New York; her broken relationship with the editor of a rival magazine, and her need to make a fresh start.
After dinner they talked some more.
“We hold an exhibition on the last evening,” Jenna explained. “Amanda comes, and some of the B&B owners. It gives the students an opportunity to showcase their work.”
There wasn’t time for reminiscing the following day. The students began arriving just after nine and by nine-thirty all eight had signed in and were eagerly, if a little nervously, listening as Jenna talked them through the programme for the next five days.
Jenna explained that Philip would be leading a workshop the following day.
After coffee she set them an introductory exercise to gauge their level of ability. Mel helped in any way she could – advising on style, colour, shading; always offering reassuring words of encouragement.
By the time they waved the group off at four, they were both exhausted.
“But it was fun,” Mel said. “That young woman with the ponytail’s got potential.”
“And David,” Jenna nodded. “He wanted to go to art school, but his parents insisted he did accountancy. It’s only now he’s retired he’s been able to think about painting again.”
The week passed without too many hitches or shattered egos. The atmosphere around the courtyard was happy and relaxed as the students bonded, encouraged and commiserated as appropriate.
The fact that the sun shone, allowing them to work outside, was an added bonus.
On Thursday evening, after dinner, Jenna and Mel sat on the wall, each with a glass of wine.
“I can’t believe how quickly the time’s gone,” Mel said, staring out at the sea. “Being here has made me realise how much I love – and miss – painting for myself.”
When she turned to Jenna her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t know if I can do it any more.
“I’ve totally lost confidence in myself.”
Jenna rested a hand on her arm. “You’re a brilliant artist, Mel. It’ll all come back. Just you wait and see.”
She was taken aback when Mel asked if she missed painting too.
“Me? I paint all the time.”
“Really paint, I mean. From your heart. I’m not criticising what you do for Amanda. But you know you’re capable of so much more.”
“It’s not that simple, Mel. The tourist paintings help pay the mortgage.”
“What about Philip’s contribution?”
“What do you mean?”
“Please don’t take it the wrong way, Jen. I love Philip. You two were my best friends at college. But you appear to be doing more than your fair share of the work around here.”
“Philip does his bit. He shares the teaching, after all.”
“But you’re the one who does all the lifting and laying. You make the soup and cut the bread and do the washing-up. It was you and me who moved the easels in and out of the workshop.”
Jenna sighed. “He’s never been very practical. It was always his dream to live somewhere like this and paint. He doesn’t find the commercial side of it easy.”
“It was your dream too,” said Mel. “You said all you ever wanted was to marry Philip, live by the sea, paint, and fill your home with children.”
“We don’t always get everything we want, though.”
Mel nodded contritely.
“I’m sorry, Jen, I’m in no position to lecture anyone about their life choices.”
There was great excitement the following day as everyone prepared their work for the exhibition, especially when Jenna informed them the photographer from the local press would be attending.
The students’ pictures were set up in the workshop while Philip displayed some of his own pieces in the studio next door. It was a busy evening with everyone milling back and forth between the buildings, wine glasses in one hand and cameras in the other.
When Jenna went into the main studio she saw a small group gathered round an easel in the corner.
They cheered when Jenna approached.
She was shocked to see it was her own painting causing the stir.
“You can practically taste the sea-salt on your lips,” someone said.
“It’s fantastic, Jenna,” said David. “Why didn’t you show it to us before?”
“It’s not finished,” said Jenna. “It’s not ready for public viewing.” Her eyes fired daggers at Mel who appeared beside her.
Mel held up her hands and shook her head. “Not guilty.”
Jenna looked at Philip. He smiled and winked at her.
By the time everyone had swapped phone numbers and made promises to keep in touch, it was after midnight.
“Don’t bother with clearing up.” Jenna yawned. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Neither Jenna nor Mel said much on the way to the ferry. They were both tired and sorry to be saying goodbye.
They hugged before Mel boarded.
“Come back soon,” Jenna pleaded.
Jenna arrived home to see Philip dumping black bags into the bin.
“You’ve cleared up?” she said, gazing around the kitchen. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier. I wanted to spend as much time as I could with Mel before…”
Philip kissed her.
“I’m sorry,” said Philip.
“For what?” she asked.
“For being lazy, selfish, arrogant…”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mel’s right. I’m all those things. I’ve left you to graft and pay the bills while I’ve indulged myself in the studio.”
“Mel said that?”
He shook his head. “I heard you both talking the other night.”
“I’m sorry, Philip. Mel wasn’t meaning to be nasty. She loves you as much as she loves me.”
“But everything she said was true,” Philip persisted. “It’s time I started pulling my weight and making my share of the dream come true. What was it again? To be married, live by the sea, paint… now what was the other thing, oh yes, fill the house with children.”
He grinned and kissed her again.
Jenna was honest enough to admit to herself that it wasn’t just Mel who’d lost some confidence. But with no more courses scheduled for the rest of the year, she found herself with time to work on her own projects.
It helped that Philip produced some paintings for Amanda.
“Do you think they’ll sell?” he asked nervously when he and Jenna took them in to the gallery.
“Oh, the visitors will love them,” Amanda assured him.
“I suppose that’s a good thing, then,” he muttered, making both Jenna and Amanda laugh.
One day Jenna called for Philip to come and see. Soaring was finished.
“It’s wonderful, darling,” he said.
“Look closely. Tell me what you see.”
“Two seagulls. Waves crashing on the rocks – great brushwork – the cliffs, and… what’s that? I don’t remember seeing it before.” He scrunched up his eyes for a better look. “It’s a nest.”
He looked at her smiling face.
“A nest? Do you mean…?”
Jenna nodded.
The middle of September found them wrapping the paintings to go to the mainland. There were five in all.
“Are you quite sure about selling Soaring?” Philip asked.
“You compromised by painting pictures for Amanda, so it’s only fair that I put my stuff up for sale too. We can’t afford to be sentimental about things. We need all the money we can get before the baby arrives.”
They spent four days on the mainland. After depositing the paintings, they went shopping for the baby.
On their last evening before returning to the island, they visited Mel at her new flat. She proudly showed them the sunny room which she’d turned into a studio.
“It feels so good to be painting again,” she confessed.
“Yes, it does.” Jenna nodded in emphatic agreement.
One morning the post van drew up, bringing some of the things they’d ordered on the mainland.
“This was at the terminal as well,” George said, lifting a large rectangular package from the van.
“What’s that?” Philip asked, arriving as George was pulling away.
Jenna untied the string and carefully removed the packaging.
“It’s Soaring,” she gasped. “The gallery must’ve made a mistake. They’ve sent it back to us instead of to the buyer.”
“It’s not a mistake,” said Philip.
“I told them not sell it until they sold one of mine. They were to use the money from my painting to buy it for me.”
“But if you felt that strongly about it why did we bother taking it to the mainland in the first place?”
“Because it deserved to be on display where people could see it,” Philip said. “Joshua said there was a great deal of interest in it. They can’t wait to see more of your stuff.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “But this one’s mine. Bought and paid for, fair and square.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“What else did George bring?” Philip asked.
“The paint we ordered for the baby’s room.” Jenna held up a tin of yellow emulsion.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like the colour?
“It’ll be nice and bright when the sun shines through the window.”
“No, no, the colour’s absolutely fine,” he said. “It’s just…”
“Just what…”
He grimaced. “I’ve never done any decorating before. I don’t know how.”
“Great,” said Jenna with mock incredulity, “an artist who can’t paint.”
And as a seagull squawked overhead they both burst out laughing.
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