I’m not at all surprised. Ara’s talent is mind-blowing. Gutsy. Bright and bold. It’s a direct reflection of her.
“I bet your mom’s incredibly proud of you.”
“She was.”
There it is again… was. I don’t have to ask; my face does it for me.
“She had a heart attack in the middle of teaching fifth period. They couldn’t save her.”
I reach out and grab her hand. My heart is broken for my girl.
Ara sighs. “She died covered in pottery clay up to her elbows. I’m convinced there was no better way for her to go. She was in her element, surrounded by students she loved, doing what she was most passionate about.”
Fuck me.
“Art’s important to you and your mom.”
“It’s as necessary as breathing,” she says. “Sometimes even more so.”
I dump more orange chicken onto my plate, rolling her words over carefully. “Are you tied to that warehouse?” I want to know if it has significant meaning to her or if it’s just an affordable place she found and settled for.
“Ugh, the warehouse.” Ara’s face squinches up. “I love it there, but the building was actually sold. We were told about it two months ago.”
I pause with the container of steamed rice in my grip. “It didn’t look like anyone was moving out.” In fact, it was business as usual. Complete with the dogs and bagels.
“We’re in various stages of denial. The rent is dirt cheap there and we’re allowed to make a mess. It’s got nice lighting and free parking. It’s an artists’ playground. Annnnd will probably turn into some kind of brewery or industry themed condo building now. So depressing.”
My brain starts working on a plan. I don’t know what I can pull off, but I don’t want Ara to lose her art space. If the building’s sold, I can’t buy it, nor would I want to. It’s not in a good part of town, and I’m not into purchasing real estate investments. But I’ll come up with something she’ll love. “Have you looked into any new spaces yet?”
“No. Like I said, we’re all in denial. I keep meaning to, but my routine is to get up and go to the studio and paint, which is all I do. Every time I think I should look around for a new space, it feels exhausting because what little research I’ve done, I haven’t found anything good. It’s disheartening.”
I bet. Now I have an urge to build a fucking space for her somewhere. “How long do you have left before everyone has to get out?”
“Four more months.”
That’s not too bad. I was expecting her to say one week. Four months is plenty of time to find her something new that’s what she wants and has the security I’ll want. This makes me relax a little.
“I’ve been waiting to hear about this new commission I applied for.” She perks up in her chair. “It’s to paint a mural in each of the Elementary schools in this district.”
I sit back, listening.
“It’s not really my style, but I’m trying to branch out. Step outside my box a bit so I can try new things.” She shoves an egg roll in her mouth and chews while she talks. “I’ve been in a massive rut for months with my own projects. I was kinda hoping this will get me out of my funk.”
“Makes sense.” I pick at my food. “Have you had any shows lately?”
“No.” She drinks some water. “Not since my mom died. After I sold our house, I paid off her funeral expenses and some other bills and had a little left over. Between that, the money I had stashed away from the two commissions I’d procured, I moved away and came here. I’ve been on my own with little more than my sad savings and a few other smaller commissions, but it’s enough to get by on.”
“And you haven’t seen your dad at all?” I’m prying, but I don’t care. I want to know everything. Pick her apart and see what makes her tick. What motivates her. What crushes her so I can make sure to avoid it or help her work through it in time.
“Nope. He didn’t even come to her funeral. Such an asshole.” She doesn’t seem too upset about it. Maybe she’s made peace with her dickhead father’s choices. “He was infatuated with my mom, not in love with her.” She grabs the rice and dumps some on her plate. “Some guys like the idea of being with a creative person. I have no idea what that fetish would be called, but it’s a thing, I think. Like artists and rockstars and creators are some unruly wild animal they can tame and master.” She laughs and dumps more orange chicken on her plate next. “That’s what my mom would say to me. That we’re so full of passion and wildness, we draw them with our magic, and spit them out with our paint.”