Although the original painting was in oil, I chose acrylic for mine, mostly to capture the bright colors and fine brush strokes I wanted. Since my interpretation of the original had a strong foundation in Venus’s earthly beauty, I focused my painting on just that — her tie to the earth.
The sea raged behind her, a storm receding in the distance as the waters closer to the shore were calm and glistening in the sunlight peeking through the clouds. Footprints marked the sand and led to where Venus stood in the center of the painting, still wet, her hair dripping over her breasts and cascading waterfalls down the lines of her abdomen. She stared directly at the viewer with hypnotic blue-green eyes, and vines and flowers wrapped around her feet, ankles, and up her shins, as if the earth was already claiming her as its own now that she’d been born from the ocean.
There were no other humans or divine creatures in my piece, just her and the earth around her — a dense forest to her left, the calming beach behind her, and the storm that she was born of rolling away off the right side of the canvas.
The entire piece glowed, bright oranges and pinks and golds playing off the softer, deeper colors of blue and violet. And I spent most of my effort on the goddess herself, on the curves of her magnificent body and the exquisite detail of her face. She was smiling just a bit, just at the corner of her lips, her brow slightly arched. She watched the viewer with her entire body exposed, save for the wet hair covering her nipples, and the flowers and vines shielding her most private areas from view.
She was modest but confident, aware of her power, but humbled by the earth that gave it to her.
She was free.
And she was announcing her birth to the water and the forest and the dirt before offering herself to humankind.
Pride swelled in my chest the longer I stared at it, at what I’d created, and when the professor strolled in and tossed his briefcase aside like usual, I actually wanted him to look at my work. I wanted to watch him when he did.
And I was more confident than ever that I nailed the assignment.
“Ah, the sweet sight of a room full of exhausted eyes,” Professor Beneventi said with a smile. The class chuckled in unison as he continued looking around. “I’ve seen all of you working hard this week, and I’m eager to see what you’ve been working on.”
A shift of nervous energy came over the room, and when Professor Beneventi saw Liam still working on his canvas in the corner, he arched a brow and walked over to him first.
“Working until the very last minute, Mr. Benson?”
“I work best under pressure,” Liam said, his brows furrowed deep over his eyes as he painted. He stuck his tongue out just a smidge as he made his final brush strokes, and then he dropped his brush and threw his hands up like he was a contestant on a gameshow. “Done!”
The class laughed.
I didn’t.
Professor Beneventi didn’t look too amused either, but he humored Liam with a smile before rounding the canvas to stand behind him.
For the longest time, he didn’t say a word, just let his eyes wander the length of the canvas as one hand idly stroked his salt and pepper beard. I watched him for a reaction, for a hint of what he was thinking, but nothing came.
And when I glanced at Liam, he was watching me.
Those dark eyes of his stopped my heart in my chest, the silence deafening in my ears. He tilted his head, like he was trying to figure me out and was coming up empty handed.
And then, the bastard winked at me.
I cleared my throat, tearing my eyes away and looking at my own canvas until the professor clapped his hand on Liam’s shoulder.
“Well done, Mr. Benson,” he said simply, to which I couldn’t help but react to with a dramatic drop of my jaw. Then, Professor Beneventi leaned down to where only Liam could hear, but since I was watching so intensely, I read his lips. “Now, imagine what you could do if you actually applied yourself.”
He squeezed Liam’s shoulder, and Liam nodded in understanding, and then the professor stood and walked to the next student as Liam turned back to his work. His smile had slipped, though, and the way his brows furrowed, he almost looked disappointed rather than relieved.
I managed to pick my jaw up off the floor, and when I did, I felt my heartbeat come back to life in my chest, in my ears, and all the confidence I’d had before blew out the window on a warm summer breeze. Nerves rushed in to fill its place, and I stared at my painting, trying to see what I’d seen in it just moments before.