I had moved to a small coastal town, Whitney Crest. I needed a change, and I swear it called to me. As if it said, you've fucked around long enough, get your ass home. The funny thing is, I'd never lived there before. I was tired of the big city. It could go bite itself in the ass. Tired of the traffic, tired of pavement. Tired of trying to sleep in a bed I once shared. I needed a new lifestyle. I was throwing in the towel, throwing it in the face of the crowded subways, the litter, the noise, and the grand art galleries; where it wasn't about craft, it was about money--and who you swill cocktails with. Did I mention I was an artist? Or tried to be.
Long, enduring bike rides told me it was time to go. I pounded my body into a machine on that bike, and one day, right in the middle of Crawford Park, I had a vision. Whitney Crest, a town I had once been through as a child. It was a peaceful place, forgotten in time. At night, all houses lit up like a string of holiday lights, dotting the valley and dispersing through the nearby hills. They had a good main drag, a little touristy, but with quaint coffee shops, a bait and tackle shop, a bookstore, and art galleries of their own.
I moved into a small rental and set up shop. I paint pictures. My subject matter can be a little dangerous, usually fantasy mixed with soft-core. People doing various things in various locations, scantily clad, sexy, erotic--and there had to be a dragon. Always a dragon somewhere, waiting. My grand plan was to paint a bunch of pictures, meanwhile, talk to one of the galleries in town and see if I can have a show.
About a month later I finished three paintings and was about to lose my mind. If you turn away from the world for too long... it may turn away from you. My Aunt Holly used to say, "Get in your car and let the road blow the load off." After all, it had taken me to Whitney Crest.
There was a group art show at one of the galleries off the drag, Salon Par La Mer. This would be a good thing, go mingle, enjoy some art, maybe meet some fellow artists. Blow some load off.
Inside the gallery, first stop always, the bar. They had a long table with a white table cloth curated by a woman offering wine in a box.
"I don't think I've seen you before." There was a slight gravel to her voice. "I'm Barb."
She wore make-up a little heavier than some, particularly striking was the turquoise eye shadow and pink lipstick. A bit like some of the colorful fishing lures I'd seen in the bait shop. She had sandy blond hair and wore animal print leggings--and she looked at me like I was bait in her shop. She clutched a cup as if preparing for the next customer. The lipstick ghost on the clear plastic told me different.
"I'm new in town. My name is Kellan."
She raised an eyebrow and extended her hand; palm down, placing it in mine.
"Charmed to meet you."
She had seen the big city too. The fake city. I smirked at her wiles and indulged. I took her hand and kissed the top of it.
"You cad." She giggled. "You best be off, or people will talk." Then she winked slowly, like a Venus flytrap closing.
She was a hard boiled egg still endowed with a surprisingly healthy, albeit, painted, outer shell. But it was time to do what I came to do. Look at artwork. Look at all the pictures. Even the ones I didn't care for. Act like you're interested before moving on. You never know when the artist is watching your reaction. I knew this first hand. I knew how a scowl could erase three weeks of work and hope.
Some of it was astounding, one piece in particular. A big landscape. In the foreground, a path leading into a forest, surrounded by trees. Fall leaves nestled on the ground, and a crooked broomstick lay within. The detail was incredible. "Was this a local artist?" I thought. I leaned in closer, looking for brush strokes.
Suddenly a tug on the back of my shirt. I whipped around and there was a woman. A little older than me, with long curly hair, and eyes that sparkled like the lights on the hill.
"It's very pretty, isn't it?" She noted.
"Yes. As an artist, I can enjoy the detail and the colors." I was trying to impress her.
"You're an artist?"
"Well... I tell myself I am."
She smiled, and I continued.
"I just moved into town about a month ago. I'm new here."
She looked at me silently, eyes scintillating, expecting more.
"Oh! I'm sorry, my name is Kellan."
"I'm Analise, and you are admiring my art."
There was something about her. It was very inviting. The faintest of worry lines ran up her forehead. Lips pursed in a smile as pinned by dimples; looking like she held something in, maybe a secret, something that provoked that twinkle in her eyes.
"You are incredible. I mean, I--your art is incredible. I would love to get lost in your forest."
She smirked.
"OK, that sounded weir--"
"No. I would love to as well. That's why I painted it." She sensed my awkwardness. "What subjects do you paint?"
I didn't know how she would react to my work, being kinda erotic. "I... paint people in fantasy-type settings."
"Could I see?" She glowed.
I Inched the phone from my back pocket,trying to hide any reluctance. What if she was some church lady? I scrolled through the photo app quickly, hoping to avoid any erotic nude paintings. She looked over my shoulder and I could feel the warmth of her body and the scent of sandalwood drifting.
"I like you." She said.
"Um ah, what? I--"
She laughed, "I meant, you are soooo nice. You don't even know me, and you are willing to share your art work."
"I don't mind." I swallowed, and continued playing Russian roulette with my phone gallery. Finally my finger landed. "There, I did this."
It was a painting of a woman with a dragon. She rode the beast in a sensual manner... but at least she wasn't totally naked.
"I like that! You've really captured her motion, the way she rides... "
Frankly, it looked like she was humping a pillow. Analise was being kind.
She leaned in closer, and her hair brushed against my shoulder. Damn, something was going on here. I felt something stirring, a weird excitement. I secretly wished that I was that dragon and she was the rider. No! Not here, not now. Hormones down. She's a very nice woman, probably married--and why would she want anything to do with me?
"What are you doing Wednesday night?"
I almost choked. "I don't know... painting? I think?"
"I run an art group once a week. It's just a bunch of us old crones," she smirked. "But it's fun, would you like to join us?"
"Yes I would."
"Actually some of us are here tonight. It would sure be nice to have some new blood in the group." She continued and told me she had started a Meet-up for painters a few years back, and it was fine at first, till weird people just started showing up. Now she runs a small get-together for art friends every Wednesday.
How could I say no? Analise is not what I would call a crone. Maybe ten years difference? It didn't matter. I was already hooked.
She reached down and grabbed my hand. "We are artists, and it's not easy to find people that understand us. We have to stick together."
I smiled. I smiled at the sudden familiarity I felt. "Your work is beautiful, and I mean that sincerely."
She looked down, almost shy, and whispered, "Thank you."
"I know, I get it. I'm always trying to bring my fantasies to life." I was hoping that didn't sound too weird in light of the dragon picture.
"Tell me more about you?" She questioned.
"Me? I used to live in the city. I had a girlfriend and a job, and I liked to paint. I still have a job, and I like to paint, but I'm not sure about my girlfriend, she moves around."
"I noticed you had a few kinda erotic pieces. You skipped through them quickly."
"Ah... ha!" I laughed uneasily. "Ah, yes. I did."
"That's OK. I like your style... I have a few of those too." She added.
"You do?" When I looked at the painting on the wall, I could only imagine what her personal paintings must look like.
