Seven

OUR BIRTHDAYS CAME AND WENT. It was no big deal. We were too busy for more than a celebratory dinner. After Labor Day, life had accelerated. Kate and I spent as much time as possible in the studio, but one end was now stacked almost to the ceiling with the fall fashion line from Ice Queen Sportswear. Melody, Lissa, and our new part-time assistant Penny were ironing, hanging, filling orders, and keeping the books. We considered expanding the studio to a second bay.

And Penny ... Penny was a sophomore business student at SCU we hired on work study for twelve hours of work a week. She helped with shipping orders and keeping the books. You couldn’t imagine a bookkeeper who looked more the part. She was five-two, a little overweight, mouse brown hair that she wore in a bun, and thick glasses. She was intense and we all wondered if she had any social life at all. She regularly told us she was available any time if we needed additional help.

The first time she walked into the studio and saw the Trips standing naked on a small platform with a curtain partly covering them as they looked out, I was afraid she’d freak out and run screaming out of the studio. Instead, she glanced at the teens, looked over where Kate and I were painting, and gave a big sigh. She walked right in front of us, picked up all the clothes the kids had left scattered on the floor in their hurry to pose and hung them neatly on one of the clothing racks. Then she went to her little desk and started working on the day’s accounting. That was the entire response from our unflappable accountant.

Canvasses were gradually being filled with works that pleased Kate and me and our agent. School was taking a bite out of our schedules, but I’d insisted that racquetball was now going to be limited to a single two-hour session each evening. My sports conditioning class with Coach Frederickson was at nine in the morning on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and all other classes were at PCAD this term. My toughest class was printmaking. You’d think that a class that was primarily technical would have been easier, but learning how to work with lithographic stones, intaglio, etching, and woodblocks was both hard and intense. That was the class that Kate and I had together with Sandra. Printmaking was far more compatible with Sandra’s style than Kate’s and mine. Melody had taken the class last year as part of her textiles training.

Clarice came to the studio late in September to review what Kate and I had ready. She brought our entire review committee with her. We weren’t expecting that.

“Doc Henredon,” I said in surprise when I answered the bell. “Welcome. I didn’t know you were stopping by today, but you are always welcome.”

“You need a studio that is not completely hung with clothes,” Doc laughed as he came through the racks of Ice Queen Sportswear. “I like what you’ve done with the rest of the studio, though.” Since the last time Doc had been to the studio, we’d taken his advice and painted all the wall surfaces in Munsell Gray. We used indirect lighting almost exclusively now and had built a little stage to pose our subjects on. Kate offered Doc a cup of tea or coffee as the doorbell rang again and I headed back to the door of the studio.

“Hi, Clarice,” I said. “Oh! Mr. Bowers. Welcome to our little studio.”

“Please, call me Bob. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to see what our new artists are up to. When Clarice called, I insisted.”

“Doc’s here, too,” I said. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

“No, Tony, that’s it for now. We want to see the paintings and then talk some serious business,” Clarice said. We joined Kate and Doc and served more tea. We had an easel set at center of the stage with good lighting and the three sat in the chairs we provided. We’d decided to bring the pieces out one at a time, alternating between Kate’s and mine. The three critics stayed seated for about twenty seconds before they put their cups down and approached the stage for Kate’s first new painting. We waited for them to say something to us, but Clarice simply said, “Next,” and the three sat down to wait while we changed paintings. I could hear them talking quietly among themselves, but couldn’t make out anything they said. It was like having a jury sitting back and marking scores. They each had a pad of paper and made notes. As soon as I had my first painting on the easel, they were back on their feet and examining it in detail, sometimes pointing at an area.

I was sure, as the afternoon progressed, that the three were enjoying the art and were enthusiastic supporters, but they seemed to have another agenda at the same time. Twenty paintings, examination, and discussion took three hours. Kate and I were exhausted when she helped me hoist the full Bacchanalia onto the stage. I had a special stand I had used for the mural rendering as the eight-foot plywood backing would collapse the easel.

“Not this one,” Bob said emphatically as they stood to examine it. “All the others.”

“I agree,” Doc said. I couldn’t believe they were knocking my newest masterpiece.

“It’s not finished yet,” I said. “I know it looks a little rough right now, but it’s the centerpiece for all the others.”

“It’s not a criticism of the painting, Tony,” Clarice said. Kate was clutching my hand. “The topic is not whether it should be exhibited.” She turned to Bob. “I concur.”

“And Gerhardt will do it?” Doc asked. “And the investor?”

“I sent them the photos Jade made and they were thrilled.”

“Magnificent. Magnificent.”

They looked up at Kate and me, probably seeing two terrified college kids who had no idea what was going on. Well, that’s what we were.

“Dinner,” Clarice said. “We’ll beat the rush if we go now.” We closed up the studio and followed our critics to Carmine’s. Clarice had apparently called ahead. Wendy met us at the door and led us to a private booth near the back. She gave Kate and me each a searing kiss before she disappeared back to the kitchen.

“Ah,” Bob said. “The Odalisque. You do make love to all your models, don’t you?”

“I hate to be pushy,” Kate said, “but would someone please tell me what this is all about and why we’re all at dinner?

“What have you been learning this semester?” Doc started.

“Oil technique, 3D concepts, printmaking, storytelling,” I said. Those were my classes.

“Printmaking,” Doc said.

“Gerhardt Strauss is an old German who lives in Godforsaken, Georgia just across the river from purgatory.”

“Now, now, Clarice. It isn’t nearly that hot there this time of year,” Bob said. “And the town across the river is Phenix City.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

“He’s a fine art printer,” Doc said, cutting through Clarice and Bob’s jokes. “The topic of this discussion is doing fine art limited edition prints of your works. You’ve hit a level of popularity that is way ahead of your ability to turn out new works and you shouldn’t be dependent on flooding the market with paintings. But you can both increase your marketability by producing and selling a small edition of signed lithographs. Gerhardt would be the top choice for producing those prints.”

“But isn’t that just a printing press running copies? We could do that from the computer,” Kate said.

“We’re not talking about giclée,” Doc said. “Nothing against that, but Gerhardt is old school. He still maintains a photo lab and works with film. He also developed a unique seven-color separation process, specifically for art prints. He uses a printing press, yes, but he uses a single-color offset press to pull one color at a time. It’s a dry blending process and produces sharp edges rather than the rather muddy blends one sometimes gets with high speed wet presses.”

I wondered if there was going to be a test on this, because I was sure I should have been taking notes.