From Bully To Beloved

“Awesome! You won’t regret it, promise.”

After I walk her to the door and lock up behind her, I turn to find Coltonleaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching me.

“What was all that about?” he asks.

“Kelly has a neighbor who’s got a friend who owns a gallery and is looking to showcase loColtonartists,” I explain. “She’s been begging me to reach out to him, but I don’t think I’m ready to do something that big again.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I assume it has to do with the douchebag you two were talking about?”

“Yup. Osgood Ramstraat, the top art critic forArt Dream Monthly.”

Coltonfrowns. “Last name sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Yeah. He’s a big deal in the NYC art scene. When I had my first-and only-show a few years ago, he ripped it to shreds. It was a massacre.”

“What did he write?”

I mimic a deep seventy-five-year-old pompous highbrow male voice: “‘Ms. Seraphine Gray’s uninspired work of art-if it can even be called art,’ yes, that’s what he wrote, ‘is lacking in all essential and all irrelevant elements. Her approach is an affront to the human body specifically, and the art world in general. No context, no innovation, and worse, no truth. More power to her…for picking the pinnacle of historiColtonart-the human nude portrait-and mocking it-that’s what Gray is truly terrific at.'”

His eyes bulge so much they look like billiard balls. “Dick.”

“Right?”

“Dick.”Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Obviously, Coltonmust have forgotten that he wasn’t particularly nice about my artwork at school either. Ironically, his words are the most comforting I can imagine. “That’s what I’ve been saying. It’s unforgivable.”

“Okay, let’s be calm. What’s done is done. Fuck him. Who cares what some stuck-up art idiot had to say?” He pauses for a beat. “Your girlfriend’s right: Your work’s amazing, especially your new stuff. I’m not just saying that because you’ve massively improved your taste in subject.”

I can’t help smiling as he talks about himself. Pushing past him and returning to the kitchen, I finish cleaning up. I haven’t gotten a chance to immortalize him on paper since the secret drawing night, only in smaller sketches drawn from memory.

“If you decide to exhibit again, would the idiot be there?”

“Of course he would be, yes. He’s everywhere.”

Coltonrolls his eyes exaggeratedly, making me want to hug him. “How long ago was his review?”

“A few years. Three.”

“Oh, you definitely have to call the gallery,” Coltoninsists. “You’re raw, real talent. I told you that, everybody can see it, and every time I catch a glimpse of what you’re working on, it blows me away.”

I consider his words and what Kelly told me before she left. In the back of my mind, I feel myself giving in a bit. Itwouldbe nice to get back into the loColtonart scene. I’ve been away from it for so long.

Of courseI’m mad at myself for placing so much value on someone else’s opinion that it crushed my confidence. Made me think that art wasn’t my calling, even though it’s my favorite thing in the world.

“I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“You say, ‘Hi, I’m Sera, and I’m exactly what your gallery needs.’ It’s not that hard.”

“For you, maybe. It is for me.”

“Babe. You gotta take risks.” He grabs a sponge and cleans the counter with me. “You said it yourself: You’re going to jump back into art. This is the perfect time.”

“I’m just not confident that I have enough strong work prepared yet to succeed,” I explain, placing the business card carefully in my sketchbook. “I can’t go in unless I am one hundred percent confident I’m showing the best I’ve got. You only get so many chances in life.”

The next thing I know, strong arms slide around my waist.

“Listen up, I’ve got something to tell you,” he says. “It’simportant.”

I freeze.