“I wanted you to be the first to know” Rowan tentatively confided in me. Suddenly the room was a lot colder than before. The creaking celling fan above provided the only sound. I got up and walked to the window, staring at the brick wall of the adjacent building I began to shout.
“Colombia, why Colombia?”
“If you wanted good coffee that badly Rowan I can have some shipped right to your door from their mountaintops, there is no need to go there.” I said
“Or wait is it Blow? Do you want some quality stuff to sniff, if so I’ll get that to buddy?” I said matter of fact “It’s not above my pocket or reach trust me.”
Rowan laughed, bellowed actually,
“Please don’t make me laugh you know it hurts. Sometimes I really feel you should have gone into journalism or politics rather than art, Jack.” Rowan said with a smirk. “Always trying to change a person’s mind, even when the person knows what’s best for themselves.”
Leaning against the sole window I surveyed Rowans apartment. Claustrophobic was the word. A stove, sink and refrigerator filled one corner, in the middle was the perpetually creaking ceiling fan, the only source of air. Below it was his one dining table and two dining chairs. Had it not been for me, there would still be only one dining chair. At the end of the apartment was a murphy bed, surrounded by a floor full of bodybuilding magazines. One door in and out and two others, one leading to his bathroom another to the closet.
“Rowan, I have told you if you want to get out of the place, my SoHo apartment is free please take it.” I implored.
“See there you go again,” he replied exhausted “What makes you feel I’m not happy here, it has everything I need within meters of each other.”
“My minds set Jack, it’s time for me to move on at least see another country while I can, I’m leaving in a week, isn’t this what you’re always telling me, to go live a little, well I am goanna do it.”
“I never meant this.” I said in a hushed looking down at my watch. I was out of time the show was about to start. “This isn’t done, but I’ve got to go.”
“You sure you don’t want to come?” I asked knowingly “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Quit asking answers and go before Carla rips you a new one ok.” I gave Rowan a hug and I left.
Walking out his apartment building the fear and anxiety rose up, “I can’t let him leave.”
CHAPTER 2
Stepping into the night air, the cold penetrated my bones, a welcome numbing. The crown continued to roar inside the gallery. Knocking against a pack of pall mall I intended to send my anxieties up in smoke.
“Why are you out here shriveling your lungs? When adoring fans are waiting to inflate your ego further.” Roma asked. My agent, as shrewd as she is caring.
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
I muttered between puffs.
“Six months later and you’re the tortured artist, a bit premature? If you were a writer I would understand.” Roma chuckled
“They buy every piece of work you bring
before them, praise it, interpret it, even value it beyond what we imagine.” Roma
said gleaming “No one has been this accepted in the last decade, it’s a
whirlwind, and everyone keeps asking when the next show is even trying to buy pieces
you have not even painted yet.”
Pressing the cigarette to my lips I took a deep inhale, attempting to stifle my words,
“I can’t paint anymore,”
“Can’t? That’s a strong word Jack, or is it won’t, you people always have creative blocks. It’s a part of an artist’s life. So, figure out the block get through it cause your next show is in two months and I already promised the whole art world at least four new pieces.”
There it was again the anxiety, like a rope wrapped around my chest, squeezing. Four new pieces, she would be lucky if I could get half right now. The rain began to fall,
“Come on inside,” Roma said taking me by my arm.
As we walked I heard my boots slush in the rain, the crackling thunder took me
back.
CHAPTER 3
I was in a rush that’s an understatement, I was in a panic. First potential sale in over six months and I was late to meet the client. Worse yet it rain began to fall, I was too close for a cab when it came down, so I kept running. Sprinting around the corner I knocked someone over, yet another understatement I bulldozed them. My first instinct was to keep going and that’s what I did, turning back to yell sorry I saw them there lying flat. I’m a decent enough guy and at that time money had not become my everything. I back tracked to help out, as I picked up the person he was incredibly light to lift I thought for a moment it was a child. I could see the face Water streamed down their face almost masking the look of excruciating pain.
“I’ll hail a cab and take you to the h..” before I could finish my sentence, he reached for the tube holding my painting.
“You’re an artist?” he asked teeth gritting.
“Yea, but we need to…” again he cut me off
“Go sell this! That’s what’s important plus I don’t need help.” with those words he began to hobble away.
I did not know how to react, but the rain made the choice for me as it started to pour, so I turned and began to run again. I never sold that painting, not because I was late but cause I’m a shit artist.
Create and Inspire