| |
“OH, YOU’RE WORKING.”
The air shifted behind Ryan when Ben moved close. He held his brush down and turned his head over shoulder. Ben kissed him and rested his chin on Ryan’s shoulder.
“I lost track of time.”
“I left a little early,” Ben said. “Getting your cast off means a celebration day for both of us. Sorry I interrupted you.” This close, Ben’s voice rumbled the bones of Ryan’s jaw. “But I’m glad I did. This is incredible. Okay to look this early?”
“Yeah.” Ryan previously banned viewing until he was done. He set down his brush and palette on the drafting table stool and nudged Ben with his butt, backing them both up to get a full view of the picture.
The style was reminiscent of the Pre-Raphaelites, Millais or Leighton, all light, color, and fine details. Large portions of the canvas were still blank, but at the center a woman sat next to an open window. The walls were papered with a heavily detailed pattern, somewhere between Japanese fabrics and Art Nouveau. Outside the window in the painting, the umber wash showed a trace of a riotous garden ready to bloom in oil paint. The window itself was as ornate as from the Victorian era that the picture mimicked. The woman sat on a gold velvet chair, rendered in high detail.
“This is incredible. Even if I’d never seen a picture of her when she was young, I’d know her right away. You captured your grandmother’s smile perfectly.” Ben wrapped his arms around Ryan’s waist.
“Thanks. I found this picture of her taken when she was in Japan. I’d been wanting to do a portrait of her for a long time.” The picture was clipped to the peak of the easel above the painting. His young grandmother smiled for the camera in juxtaposition to the stern, high-necked kimono and the solemn backdrop in the photo. Ryan wanted to give her the gorgeous room and sunny garden her smile deserved.
Ben kissed the back of Ryan’s neck. They studied the painting in silence for a minute, until Ben released Ryan and stepped back.
“She’s going to love it.”
Ryan turned away from the summer day he was attempting to catch on canvas, the only setting worthy of that smile. “I hope so.”
Ben brushed the back of his hand across Ryan’s cheek. “I don’t mean to be a distraction. You can work for another hour before we need to leave for your appointment.”
“You’re a nice distraction. But I also got distracted by this and lost track of time. I never had lunch.”
Ben glanced at the clock balanced on Ryan’s drafting table. “Pizza? We have time.”
“Canadian bacon and pineapple?”
“Whatever you want. I’ll call.”
Ryan followed Ben into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching him pull a coupon off the bulletin board above the phone and dial Rocket Pizza, who’d send a kid on skateboard careening the five blocks down their hill, pizza hopefully intact when it arrived.
Painting was as freeing as it was frustrating with the cast still on his hand. Forced to focus his thoughts externally, Ryan had managed to shake loose a few more answers in the studio that day. He rubbed at a sky-blue fingerprint on the back of his cast. He meant to wait until after dinner, but now was a good a time as any.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
“Is this going to end like last night did? Because I don’t know if we have time for that and pizza.”
Ben’s cheekiness tugged at Ryan’s composure. Hard to stay serious when Ben was so gleefully goofy. But this wasn’t serious; this was talking the way they always needed to do now.
Ryan settled on where to begin. “I feel so good to be able to paint again.”
“It’s beautiful work. And the cast is off in mere hours. It’ll be easier then, I’m sure.”
“Not painting these last few weeks gave me a lot of time to think about what I want to paint. I know you heard me tell that girl at Eli’s opening that I was worried I’d disappoint you with my art.”
“You couldn’t. I hope you know that.” Ben’s brow crinkled.
“I know. But it doesn’t matter—”
Ben’s eyebrows shot up.
“I mean, I’ve always been clear I wasn’t conforming to a standard that would sell, or to what I thought other people wanted.”
“Your independence is part of your charm. Like your way with words.” One corner of Ben’s mouth quirked up at his own cleverness.
Ryan ignored the retort. “What I wasn’t seeing before is that I haven’t been painting what I want for a long time. Or I was, but I never considered it worthwhile, because I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“You’ve been holding yourself back because of me?” No accusation in his voice; only kindness in his eyes.
“Not exactly. I put too much weight on something a professor said to me once and so made my path about technical perfection. About skill not satisfaction. Veronica has been telling me forever that I should show what I have, not wait. I don’t think she was wrong, but probably I needed to get to here to truly see my way forward with art.”
“Today’s picture? You feel back on track?”
“One painting doesn’t prove anything, but I can feel the shift inside me. None of the work I was doing satisfied me. The last six months have been troubling, because I thought I’d never master brushwork. But there was no passion in those pictures. I was painting what I thought would sell, or make me famous, or something—in spite of everything I’ve always said I believe about art.”
They were both quiet for a second. Ben sat up straighter. “After Eli’s show, I stood in this kitchen and demanded you use your art for financial gain. I didn’t get what I was asking when I said that, but I’ve thought about it a lot since then.”
“And I was pissed off. Maybe I couldn’t see then why it was such an insult.” Ryan smiled, though it still troubled him. As did their tendency to have hard conversations in the kitchen. They should at least try for the physical comfort of the sofa. “We’re still trying to get through all of this aftermath together.”
“But we’re doing better now?”
Ryan laughed. “We’re doing better right this minute. Will you come into the studio with me?” Unable to explain without showing Ben, Ryan smiled, hoping it reassured.
“Right now?” Ben stood up.
“Can you give me five minutes?”
In the studio, Ryan carefully laid aside the recent painting, balancing it under the drafting table and out of the way. On the easel, the two stands, and both chairs, he displayed his paintings of Ben. Viewed all together, the evolution of Ryan’s style was obvious, as was his affection for heavy blue or yellow color schemes with Ben.
Ben came in with a can of Coke in each hand. “What are you—Oh.”
His eyes darted to each canvas. He stepped forward and examined each one. “When did you do these?”
Ryan took a Coke from Ben. “Over the last couple of years. I’m aware of how creepy it is that I never showed them to you. You made it clear early on that you didn’t want to be a muse, to be exposed this way. But I couldn’t help myself. This is the work where I was putting all my passion while struggling with technical perfection in my ink work. I understand if these bother you. But now it feels so gross to keep hiding it from you.”
“This is how you got from the paintings you did in school to the one from today. I thought I gave you magical powers last night that instantly made you a better artist.”
“You did, in the sense that I’ve been practicing on you.”
Ben wandered back to the first picture and examined them all over again. Ryan drank his Coke, guessing at what Ben saw in the pictures as he took a few minutes to absorb each one.
“What made you start doing these?” His back was to Ryan, his expression unknown, but Ben didn’t sound mad.
“One night you fell asleep on the couch, and I sketched you in the TV glow. You looked so vulnerable, as if I’d captured something sacred. I had to paint it.” He pointed to the first painting, all shades of blue in the yellow glow of the TV light. “It came out so well, I wanted to do it again, but I was afraid if you knew, you’d tell me to stop. You were so adamant at the Sally Mann show about how much you hated this kind of thing. You’ve repeatedly expressed that sentiment.”
Ben kissed Ryan, relieving any residual anxiety about finally showing the paintings.
“Maybe I was wrong, Sunshine.” Ben kissed him again and walked back to the paintings. “I’ve never seen myself like this before. It’s like looking through your eyes.” He checked back over his shoulder at Ryan. “This doesn’t feel gross, like looking at someone’s unconsenting kids. I didn’t consent, but I’m willing to retroactively. This is my favorite.” He pointed to the not-quite-finished painting of Ben sleeping the morning after Eli’s art opening, right before their huge fight. “When did you do this?”
“Uh, pretty recently. It’s not quite done.”
“Are you going to finish it?”
“Yes. That’s what I wanted to talk you about.”
“Finishing them?”
“Showing them.”
Ben turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise before he relaxed into his bright grin. “Exposed!” His laughter brightened the room, dispelling Ryan’s fears of being completely open with Ben.
“It’s may be too on the nose, but yes, these fit the theme better than anything else I have now.”
Ryan closed in for a kiss. They knocked heads when the phone rang.
“Ow, fuck. Don’t answer it.”
“It might be work,” Ben said.
Ryan slapped Ben’s butt as he ran for the bedroom.
Ben returned, expression dark, like a storm cloud settling, his forehead scrunching down. “No, no, he’s right here. Hold on.” He held the handset out to Ryan. “Your mom.” His mouth formed the words without sound.