Not one of my happier days. It had been one helluva week.
I’d painted it after Ginny, my advocate at the foundation, had told me my final collection idea was crap for a third time. She was trying to give me the benefit of the doubt, but I was past the midpoint in the program. I should be tits-deep into a cohesive plan of action by now.
“Thanks.”
He turned to me. “I didn’t mean—”
I shook my head. “No, it’s a good assessment. Definitely my mood when I painted it.”
“It’s powerful.”
I tried not to let his words get to me. I was proud of my work, and I had definitely earned my spot in the program, but for
the last few months, I’d been floundering. Everything felt like derivative crap. And maybe Ginny hadn’t said that about it in so many words, but it was what I heard.
Anyone seeing these particular paintings was unnerving. I didn’t show people these oversized pieces. They were too much like my diary.
I resisted the urge to pull the canvas down off the nail where it hung for drying. Which was why the stupid canvas was in the open.
I twisted the ring on my thumb. “Look at the bottom right. Should be a number in a ball of trash.”
He traced the side of his thumb along the raised paper. “Thirty-seven.”
I nodded. “Thirty-seven hours to finish.”
He whistled. “You keep track?”
“Mostly because I drop like a dead trout when I’m done.”
“There’s an image.”
I shrugged and crossed the room to the painting. I lifted it off the nail.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting it away.”
“Why?”
“It’s finished drying.”
He glanced around the room. Spotted the stacked canvases behind my secondary easel. My current work was under a sheet.
Shit.
It took three tries to get my alleyway painting back on the nail. Being vertically challenged sucked ass. In that time, he was rifling through my stacks.
“Excuse you.” I rushed over and grabbed his elbow.
He shook me off. “What else are you hiding over here? And why are you hiding it?” He slid another painting out and held it up to me.
Why did it have to be that one?
I jerked it out of his hold and slid it to the back of the pack. “If you’re feeling well enough to pick into my private things, then maybe you can be on your way.”
“Touchy.” He peeked at a few more before I pushed him out of the corner. His shoulder banged into my current work in progress and the sheet dipped.
The only reason I’d stopped working on it was because the layers needed to dry before I went on to phase two. It was one of the reasons I was still up at dawn. For fuck’s sake, I hadn’t actually slept since the show.