It was a late summer afternoon, scorching hot, and he was alone in the Art Studio working on his canvas with a broken air-conditioner. Emir curled a strand of his wet pale hair behind his left ear as he added radiant strokes onto his landscape painting. His instructor, Mr. Esposito, was nowhere in sight, but then again, he was always late to class, if not caught flirting with the German café owner down the street. His students had got accustomed to arriving at least 15 minutes later than the scheduled time but Emir would always be there early, to perfect his work.
When he got too queasy because of the heat, he left the room to get himself a carton of cold juice from the vending machine in the corridor. He went to the toilet afterwards, to splash cold water onto his face. When he returned to the room, a boy around his age was perching on his bar stool, a flat brush in one hand. He gave Emir's painting of the autumn park a rough swipe of reddish-yellow. Emir gasped and skidded towards the boy, seizing hold of the brush in a flash.
'What do you think you're doing?' rasped Emir, as he glared at the boy with dark hair and a smug smile.
'Oh, is this your work?'
Emir had never seen someone presumptuous enough to ruin another person's artwork. The boy stood up. He was around Emir's height but his ego was twice larger.
'Yes, and why would you do that?' Emir gaped at the stroke that shot across the sky. It simply came out of nowhere and didn't fit in the painting at all.
'Me?' The boy raised his brows and smirked. 'You don't know me?'
'Who do you think you are?' Emir grunted, hands on his hip. The boy burst into laughter and Emir suppressed the urge to strike him with his brush.
'I just added some shades to the sky. Thought you're painting dusk.'
'Shades?' growled Emir. 'They look like ridiculous strokes to me.'
'I actually think these strokes are pretty powerful,' said a cheerful voice with a thick accent. Emir turned around to meet his instructor, Mr. Esposito, who was wearing a loose dress shirt and black skinny jeans. It wasn't hard to see that he had applied lots of concealer to his face to hide the freckles and he had traced his hazel eyes with dark eyeliners. 'Wild and unique. Love them!'
The Italian artist clapped his hands and he waltzed into the room, giving Emir's back a pat.
'Don't get so irritated,' said Mr. Esposito.
'Seriously?' Emir, still seething with fury, turned away from two men and pouted.
'Oh, come on, Emir, it isn't a big deal.' The Italian laughed. 'I was thinking of adding you marks. But then again, Shane, touching somebody's work without their consent isn't so friendly either.'
'Sorry,' said Shane with a chuckle.
'You shouldn't be here,' said Mr. Esposito, beaming at Shane with his droopy eyes. 'Shouldn't you be shooting on the next floor? Your instructors have been looking for you.'
'I took a break to admire your students' work,' said Shane, peeking at Emir. 'Thought they might want a genuine opinion or two, but guess they don't appreciate it much.'
'Hey, you,' yelled Emir. 'You didn't give me an opinion – you simply –'
'Beautified your painting.' Shane winked at him, earning a louder growl from Emir. Mr. Esposito laughed.
Before Emir could hurl a paintbrush at Shane, he had fled to the door.
'See you later, grumpy boy.'
'Don't ever let me bump into you,' warned Emir as he raised his fist. Mr. Esposito held him back with a giggle. 'Don't get violent here. By the way, why are you here today, Emir? The Studio is closed because the air-conditioner needs to be fixed.'
'For real?' Emir blushed. He never read emails or messages from the School.
'Yes, but you can stay if you want, I suppose.'
After Mr. Esposito left the room humming, Emir sighed and re-examined his painting. His instructor was right. Those random spurts of colours somehow added wildness to work. It didn't look like an exact replica of the scene, but rather, was a scene in its own world.
It wasn't the end of their encounter. Shane returned the very next day and almost every day afterwards to sit for Mr. Esposito's lessons. He would always sit next to Emir and comment on his work. Emir learnt later that Shane used to major in Fine Arts but he switched to Performative Arts later. He was a talent, according to Mr. Esposito, especially in the area of expressionism. He created his works out of pure fantasies and often presented some of the boldest, most aggressive and influential strokes. He got coaxed into acting after the instructor from the next class saw him performing a street dance once and was immediately captivated by the refined features of his androgynous face. Shane dropped his Arts lessons and began to act in dramas and plays. He worked part-time as a model for a local fashion magazine and a drama tutor in a playgroup.
Emir still found Shane's arrogance provoking but he began to accept the sense of delinquency he proposed for his paintings. Emir was known for his ability to produce replicas as he sketched with impressive details. Mr. Esposito always encouraged him to add, take away or alter something from his works, to make them less 'familiar' and 'dull', as he said.
'You shouldn't be looking for perfection,' said Shane once, pointing at Emir's canvas. 'That's not something people want to see.'
'Your point is?' Emir, though not fond of receiving criticisms from an amateur artist, was somehow inquisitive about Shane's perspective.
'They can simply use cameras to create a replica of the scene,' said Shane, making exaggerated gestures. 'A simple iPhone nowadays can paint better than you. Why would they want something that looks exactly the same as the view? You need to let your feelings show.'
Shane grabbed a brush from him and dipped the tip into a colour plate. He then proceeded to 'ruin' Emir's canvas with rough, frantic swipes. A streak of stimulating carmine swept across the ocean blue, as if the light from the setting sun had fused with sea.
Emir no longer lashed out at Shane whenever he stole his brushes. He kept Shane's unconventional strokes in his paintings and often continued the work his own way. The final product was often a blend of their styles. Shane's additional strokes at some point earned him a certain degree of fame. He was known as the Master of Wild Strokes.
'I still think they ruin the scene,' Emir would often say.
'Beauty is rooted in the ruins,' Shane would retort and Emir had to agree with him. 'You'll grow insane if you're always looking for pristineness. You have no idea how many lunatics out there are bred from perfectionism.'
Emir wouldn't deny that. Craving for perfection was anguishing. Sometimes, he would rip the canvas into half and slap himself if he deemed his work flawed. But after he met Shane, Shane would often sabotage his paintings way before he could pursue his perfection. Emir no longer had the chance to toss stuff around or tear his paintings when something didn't go right.
Emir had asked Shane to stop coming around but he would always see him the next day. Shane would appear in different outfits as well, sometimes dressed formally in a suit like a charismatic businessman, sometimes in dramatic, fancy costumes and sometimes in his own semi-casual clothes which often consisted of a stylish dress shirt and tight jeans. When he had a shooting to attend, he would come with light make-up. Once, he appeared in a striped A-line dress with a Panama hat and a long wavy brown wig, stunning everyone, especially the boys, in the room. Mr. Esposito only laughed and complimented that he was the most beguiling crossdresser he had ever seen. Shane had chuckled with a blush and Emir wouldn't stop peeking at those feminine long lashes. Shane substituted a female model that day and surprisingly, his shots turned out way more successful than predicted. He was asked to cross-dress from time to time for the fashion magazine and Emir was starting to get used to all kinds of his styles.
Precisely three months after they met, Shane asked Emir out, as if pestering him in the Arts room wasn't enough.
'Would you like to go on a date with me, grumpy boy?' Shane had asked blatantly, nonplussing Emir in the midst of painting. Before Emir could open his mouth, Shane whispered into his ear. 'Will be waiting for you at the café down the street.'
He didn't even give Emir an opportunity to reject him. Emir, initially planning to head home right after his lesson, found himself ineluctably drawn to the café as he strolled down the street. Shane was already there. He waved at him once he saw him through the glass window. He had reserved a seat for Emir.
'I know you'd come,' said Shane as Emir slumped down across him.
'I'm only here for tea,' said Emir.
Shane giggled and they ended up chatting for two hours. They met there almost every day after their classes. Shane would always order milk tea and salted caramel-stuffed pancakes. Emir would often settle for a cup of coffee and a slice of raspberry cake. They chatted about arts, music, acting and fashion. When they ran out of topics, they would play games on their mobile or simultaneously stare out of the windows, basking silently in each other's company.
This went on for another semester. Shane still went to Emir's Art lessons whenever he was free and Emir had started visiting Shane during his shootings.