Life in Paintings

Chapter 31 - Through a Magnifying Glass

My lungs are still burning when I enter the next painting. I hate drowning. And I hate that I can say stuff like I hate drowning. 

"Oh hey, look who's decided to show up again!"

It's Tanya. I feel a sudden warmth in my chest at the sound of her voice. Even if I don't feel for her the same way I feel for Gustave, I care about her. Over the course of the last paintings, she's become my friend. Parting from her never hurts as much as when I say goodbye to Gus though, because part of me thinks that if, when, this curse will finally be over I'll be able to find her and see her again. I don't have that kind of possibility with Gustave. 

"Tanya!" I say with my horse voice and then I start coughing like a chain smoker.  

She rushes to my side, her hand going on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I nod, giving myself a few seconds to find my breath. "Yeah, just left over drowning. It still feels like water went down the wrong pipe," I tell her and cough a bit again. 

"So, drowning?"

"Head chunked in a river by a Greek deity no less."

"Lucky."

I don't particularly want to dwell on the awesomeness that was my drowning, so I change the subject. "What are you painting?"

"What part of my desk looks like through a magnifying glass," she explains, pointing at the canvas.

I take a look at the painting, it's not finished yet, but I can see where it's going. I really like her style, the way she's always doing her paintings seen through different filters. Most of the painting is a big focus on all the little things lying around her desk, but you ca also see on the sides what the desks looks like, not though the magnifying glass. 

I like it. She's definitely talented. I look at her with her paint-stained fingers and her overall and her kind eyes. I wonder why I keep coming back here. There's got to be a reason behind it.

"So, how are you doing?" she asks me.

"I'm okay," I answer with a shrug and keep staring at her,  "but I think that's beside the point. I don't think this is about me."

"What do you mean?"

"We always talk about my problems. We never really talk about yours. I don't think being in your paintings should be about me. I think it should be about you."

Her arms wrap around her. "You're putting me on the spot right now."

"I am."

She shrugs. She fidgets. She looks uncomfortable, like she doesn't want to talk about herself. "I think I've been better lately, but seeing you today probably isn't a good sign for my mental health."

"Sorry,"I say, with an apologetic smile. 

"It's okay." She twists her fingers together. "I've been painting a lot. I've been having a lot of ideas. I send my portfolio to a couple of galleries, to find someone that would want my art."

"That's great."

"I'm not sure anyone is going to be interested though," she says, her eyes on the ground.

Maybe that's why I'm here, to make her realize that her art does matter. Maybe the curse is doing this to make me respect art more. If I'm trying to convince my friend that her art matters, I have to believe it too. "Not with that attitude. Have more faith in your painting. I mean, if I keep being thrown in paintings by great artists and you made the cut, not once but like for a third time now, it must mean you're a bigger deal than you think. Maybe in a couple of month you'll have a huge break through," I tell her enthusiastically. 

She shrugs. "Maybe."

I take a few steps and grab her shoulder, not like menacingly, more like encouragingly,  "Not maybe, definitely! Come on, say you're awesome!"

Tanya laughs at my outburst. "I'm awesome," she says with very little pep in her voice. 

"Say it like you mean it."

She snorts and says with a little it more conviction, "I'm awesome."

"Now say you're talented!"

She laughs again. The smile stays on her lips. "I'm talented."

"Louder!"

"You're crazy," she replies, shaking her head.

"I am. I'm crazy, and you're talented. Come on!"

"I'M TALENTED!" she shouts

"Yes!"

"I'm talented!" she repeats.

"You go girl!"

"You're really crazy."

I probably am. And I'm totally okay with that.

I get a big ass piece of scrap paper lying around in her studio and sharpies out and for the rest of the day I just force her to write down over and over again that's she's great and talented and to write all the things she's good at. 

Tanya gets a bottle of wine out at one point and we pass it around, joking and talking about nonsense while sitting around the paper, still writing and drawing. 

I fall asleep on the floor, a little tipsy in the middle of scrap paper, a smile on my lips.