THE ARTIST'S GIFT

THE ARTISTS GIFT

Claire stepped through the door of her studio, closed the door, and leaned against it for a moment.  She gave a heavy sigh and carefully placed her snow shovel against the wall resting it on the boot tray underneath. Leaning against the door again she balanced on one leg and undid the laces of her snow-clad boots. She unzipped her warm parka and divested it on the hook, followed by her hat, scarf, and mitts. She blew on her hands and rubbed them together briskly to warm them, feeling the blood start to circulate again after several minutes. An artist must be careful with their hands as they are one of their most useful tools.

She crossed the paint-splattered floor and stood in front of the huge window that offered the studio such an abundance of light. There, as far as the naked eye could see, was a blanket of deep white snow, her artist's eye picking out the deep blue shadows under the pines and the lighter blue shadows that highlighted her footsteps and her feeble attempts to shovel a path from her house to her studio. She noticed how the light hit the eastern side of the pines, giving them a burnt sienna colour while the opposite side was a rich raw umber. Claire gave an involuntary shiver and glanced towards the coffee maker on the counter in the corner of the room. No, she thought, best not to turn it on. There were better ways to get warm on a cold winter's day when the snow was deep, the wind, raw and bone-chilling and it was so cold that your head felt like a thousand prickles were pressing into it. Even the little forest animals that usually played in the yard were probably curled up in their warm nests. Some days it was just better to starve than freeze.

Eschewing the coffee, Claire walked to the gallery at the back of her studio. Large floor-to-ceiling landscapes and seascapes covered the walls.  She walked through the gallery just as she did every morning, stopping to stare at each one individually. She was proud of her work and rightly so. Each painting depicted not only her talent as an artist but also displayed her heart and soul and the unique gift that she had been blessed with. 

The first picture she came to was the first picture she had painted in her studio. It was easily recognized as the view from her studio window. The only difference was that this picture showed the view of what must have been a warm summer day.  Claire reached out with both paint-stained hands and touched both sides of the ornate frame. She could feel the heat, the sun, the summer breeze, and see the squirrels playing in the pines chasing each other and jumping from tree to tree. The flowers in the garden that lined the path to the studio were bent in the breeze, vibrantly coloured, and all in full bloom. The rich fragrance of their individual fragrances filled the air. Tiny bees hovered over the blossoms, the sound of their wings faint but discernible.

Claire side-stepped to the next picture, a seascape.  She touched the frame and heard the waves as they crashed against the beach and she inhaled the smell of the ocean, pungent; that salty, fishy smell which is categorically the smell of the ocean. Shells lined the beach as well as pieces of driftwood and the ever-present sign of humanity; a pop can and several plastic water bottles. Claire had thought long and hard about painting the scene with just a natural, pristine beach, but she was all about truth in her work and the sad fact of the matter was pollution was an ever-present reality in life

Shaking her head, Claire moved down the line to the next painting, running her hand lightly over the textured canvas. The sky was an azure blue filled with fluffy clouds, they were darker at the bottom but the sun brightened the top of the clouds. Tall rugged mountains, their majestic tops peaking through the mist were reflected in the cerulean blue lake. She always felt peaceful when studying this landscape. She had added hints of YinMn Blue to the lake, it was a new blue pigment. Who knew that a new luminous blue pigment would be created after centuries? Claire loved its vibrant quality. The gray mountains with their hint of purples enhanced the calmness of the mountains.

Claire turned a corner and met the backside of the free-standing wall of the previous pictures she had been studying.  She donned a rain poncho that was on a hook at the beginning of the line of paintings. As she stood in front of the first painting, a cold blast of wind hit her in the face. She pushed the hair from the face and held it back to view the painting. She staggered as the force of the wind forced her back. The painting depicted a tornado, the powerful vortex had a broken roof in its grip high in the air, the roof was in the distance in the painting but the sky was dark, and shades of gray permeated the painting. Claire dodged a small branch that came at her. Water and leaves splashed her, and bending her head to the force of the wind she moved on past the painting. Beside the full-length painting was a hook with a mop and a towel. Claire grabbed the towel and dried her face and blotted her shirt. Next, she took the mop off the wall and carefully standing to one side of the painting she mopped the floor and hung the mop back on its hook along with the wet towel. She moved on quickly down the gallery aisle, past blizzards, earthquakes, landslides, and wildfires. This section of the gallery was always a little like running the gauntlet. If you stayed too long in one spot you never quite knew what would happen.

Just to be on the safe side, Claire had placed a small cabinet mid-way down the gallery. A fire extinguisher and first aid kit were among the items on the cabinet. She had never had to use them but you just never knew. Having a unique gift sometimes comes with a price. Someday when she was feeling very brave she meant to relocate this row of powerful paintings to another section of the gallery. At the end of the row, she hung up her poncho on another hook.

Claire turned the corner and slowed her pace. This gallery wall was her goal. She turned her head and took a quick look at the small patch of the window that she could see from this area of the gallery. She could see the dark brooding sky and the deep snow. Another shiver went through her, she turned her gaze to the painting in front of her.

  It was a painting of a tropical cove, the water a tranquil mixture of turquoise, blues, and greens. The cove was rimmed with palm trees and a sandy beach which was vacant of habitation. The palm trees bent low, curved by the sea breeze, colourful parrots called from the branches. In the distance, a pair of dolphins frolicked in the surf. The hibiscus flowers rimming the cove were bright and fragrant and she inhaled deeply. In the centre of the painting was a bright blue lounge chair, a small table placed conveniently beside it. A paperback novel, a container of suntan lotion, a hibiscus lei, and a pina colada glass with a tiny pink umbrella completed the painting. She leaned forward towards the painting and felt the tropical sun kiss her face, felt the winter day melt away and warm her. The smell of the sea was strong yet refreshing. She sighed with pleasure, put a hand on each side of the gilded frame, stepped through the frame,  placed the lei around her neck, picked up the Pina Colada, and sighed deeply.