The Uncanny Gallery by Katie Veitch

Instalment 2

The boat came in heavy, rushing up the 15-inch thick shoreline of Capri's dock. Tourist-taunting signs filled the small welcome area, and Mia almost forgot about her search for a moment, remembering that she was on holiday.

This trip was supposed to be about ultimate relaxation and fun for her, after working 10hour days in call centres at home for 2 years. She had always had a passion for learning, but university and travel hadn't fit into her lifestyle yet like it had for many of her friends. Knowing she had to help keep the family afloat, she decided to work full time straight after school ended. It wasn't the worst, she didn't mind the regularity of routine, and the carefree casual relationships she had formed with all her co-workers. But she had started to become resentful after a couple of years, and couldn't push the feeling.

She was earning money and had nothing to spend it on. After helping out with bills and housekeeping, she was left with no desire for expensive clothing or lavish nights out. She was racking up money in a market she had no interest in. So Mia worked non-stop for a full year, taking no holidays or days off, so she could take a solid 5-week break in Summer to go to Italy – alone, free, unlimited. The view on the hot, pacing train ride up the cliffside of Capri brought her reality back for a moment. Instead of bringing her down, it actually lifted her up. Mia remembered it was important to have fun. This search was the biggest story she had to tell, so she may as well enjoy being the main character.

As the train reached the town on top of the cliff, Mia began to get her plan together. Wandering through the quaint, handcrafted streets, she would pick a few native subjects to question about the gallery and the painting. Maybe someone had seen it in a house party a few years ago or went to school with a local art dealer that might be the man she was looking for. In very minimal, poorly accented Italian, it would be a challenge, but determination overcame the panic of potential obstacles.

As Mia trickled in and out of street cafes and bakeries, making passing investigations with any smiling locals, she grew aware of the gaze upon her. Her Scottishness stood out through her pale skin, freckles and humid, frizzing hair. This combined with her confidence in conversation and busy manner was making her something of the subject herself. She was aware of herself being watched, and it only made her feel closer to the girl in the painting. Her most defined features were being exaggerated, her brushstrokes were showing, and people were looking, thinking, trying to make connections. An older man could see even from the small photo – and his slight misunderstanding of her poor Italian - that she was growing closer to her portrait too; "Your search is over! The missing girl is right in front of me!"

As she embodied the artwork she started to fill in the gaps with her body. Taking a moment to pause in the shade, she looked at the picture herself this time and started to feel the pose below the frame. Her body began to feel fluid and natural like she imagined a ballerina might feel when on stage. The body she had spent many years awkwardly fussing around in, having an existential crisis in that this was simply not hers, that she (now all of sudden able to admit) had spent this whole trip hiding, running away from pristine beaches into narrow streets – this body was becoming hers. She felt her waistline now connected to her freckles, her hips now belonging to her hairline, her belly button connected to her soul. She felt more in control of this machine than ever.

Putting the search on pause, Mia gathered her things and got up immediately. Stopping at the first little shop she passed, she quickly purchased an extortionately priced bathing costume, pastel blues and yellows with clear patches of white, as well as a handwoven beach towel. She ran to the cliff edge train, eager to get back to the water, but in impatience discovered a small hike route down, with a sign reminiscent of what she could only hope read 'BEACH ->'.

The terrain was unfavourable for £10 wicker sandals, but her excitement carried her down without even a stumble. The route was quiet, only encountering a few well-bronzed locals with bounding pups in tow. At a quiet spot nearing the bottom, she slipped off into some trees to change into her swimming costume. None of the usual anxiety swept over her as she undressed, no panic pulling of the waterproof material up over her thighs and stomach, but pure childish excitement to get to the sea.

A few more steps led her down to a small but spacious shoreline, with about 20 people remaining as the sun drew toward the horizon. Whether it was trust in the beachgoers, or that her freedom at this moment was simply more important to her than the possessions in her bag, she dropped her belongings and went gracefully to the water.

The water painted her toes. She pushed her body forward when the water came in and ran with the current on its way out. She was in control up until the knees, the aggressor to the ocean. But once the better part of her legs were submerged, she allowed the waters flow and the creative part of her brain to orchestrate. She twisted in the water, creating her own little whirlpool, and pulled herself under to speed up the rotation like an ice skater. As the spin began to slow she exploded upwards, soothing her hair into a slick slope down her back. Mia swam out a little further until her feet felt no pull to the floor. She kicked up her legs and lay back, allowing the bump of her lower stomach to lift above the water's edge.Filled with pride and love for her body, amazed at the grace it had acquired in this short day, Mia felt one of those great transformative moments wash over her like the cold breeze brushing over what parts of her body floated above the sea's surface. Before she was searching for the artist to have made some sort of a mistake in painting her. But now, she almost felt like she had found this mystery artist in herself. She had begun to see herself as a beautiful brushstroke on the world, one that deserved to be seen.