Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Yes…” he answered. “But I’m not a student. I graduated a few years back.”
“Brandon is an advisor and mentor,” I added.
Dorian stirred his drink. “Are you a full-time artist?”
“Yes. I do well working on commission.”
“Impressive.” Dorian took a sip.
“And what do you do?” Brandon asked.
“I run a technology company.”
“That’s right. Primrose mentioned that you lost your dad and had to take over. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
Brandon turned to Dorian’s date. “And what do you do, Meena?”
“I’m a buyer for Sheldon’s.”
“Oh nice.” I feigned interest. “I love their…crop tops.”
“I’m sure you do.” Dorian grinned mischievously over at me as I felt my cheeks heat.
Maybe I was kidding myself, but it felt like from the moment he’d walked in, Dorian’s eyes had mostly been on mine, as if everyone else didn’t exist.
“That must be such a fun job,” I said, clearing my throat.
“It is for now. I can see myself tiring of it.”
I licked wine from my lips. “Why do you say that?”
“Someday when I have kids, I don’t want to be working.”
How nice to have that option. I inwardly rolled my eyes. “I’m guessing you were raised by a stay-at-home mother,” I said.
“That’s correct.”
“That’s nice. But not everyone has the luxury of choosing not to work. My mother certainly didn’t.” I bit my lip, unsure whether that came across as rude. Maybe I meant it to be rude, since there was something about Meena I didn’t like. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d very possibly get to sleep with Dorian tonight? That was likely it.
“What type of art do you make?” Meena asked me after a moment.
“Well, I draw mostly wildlife, scenes of nature, and some humans. I don’t have a specific name for my specialty. I guess you could say I like taking things found in nature and giving them a bit of a bizarre twist.”
Dorian smiled. “Surrealism, maybe?”
“I like that.” Our eyes locked until Brandon interrupted.
“Can I give you a bit of advice, Prim?”
Prim? I’d never liked when anyone shortened my name that way.
“Of course.”
“Your technique is obviously excellent. There is no doubt about your talent. But don’t be afraid to challenge yourself, to take risks, to use the opportunity to tell a story, make a point, change the world with your art. The animals are cute and all. But I feel like you might not be living up to your potential.”
My chest tightened.
Cute?
Fucking cute?
It had taken me days to perfect each of those monkey portraits.
I’d never been great at accepting criticism. But when it came to my art, I was even more sensitive. Who the hell said art needs to always make a statement? Why can’t it just be beautiful or open to interpretation?
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” I finally said, feeling deflated.
“Okay…like, for example, the monkeys…” He chuckled. “Again, your talent is obvious. They’re extremely realistic. And while there’s clearly a theme…it’s hard to see the point of putting a bunch of monkeys in various costumes.”
I’d gone from feeling offended to wanting to cry. He thought my art was meaningless?
“Who died and made you the authority on art?” Dorian seethed.
I looked up suddenly.
Brandon shook his head. “No one. I’ve just…been around the art world a bit longer than Prim has. From a career perspective, I know what sells. People are looking for art that makes a statement.”
“And you think some depressing image with a contrived agenda is going to be what brings someone joy?”
Brandon held his palms out. “Relax, I was just trying to give her gentle constructive criticism.”
“By shitting all over something she worked her ass off on? That’s not very gentle.”
My head moved between them as if I were watching a tennis match. I could’ve said something. But I was enjoying this too much. I’d gone from the verge of tears to something else entirely.
“I absolutely did not mean to shit all over anything.” Brandon turned to me, looking a little panicked. “And if I in any way implied that—”
“Sure,” Dorian interrupted. “When I first saw her monkey paintings, I laughed like you did just a moment ago. And I’ve regretted it every day since. Because while funny on the surface, if you stop to actually think about the many possible interpretations, it opens up a cornucopia of discussion prompts. We as humans think we’re the superior species. But we don’t even fully understand where we came from. A world with primates at the helm is probably one of the greatest existential fantasies I could ever imagine. So, perhaps you should ask yourself if you’re the one being short-sighted here, to suggest that in order to be meaningful art has to shove some loud message down people’s throats. There’s something to be said for subtlety.” His chest rose and fell in anger.
The table went quiet.
I wanted to reach across the table and kiss Dorian—that was one of the things I wanted. The other was to smack Brandon in the face. Even if he was coming from a good place in offering what he felt was an honest opinion, critiquing my art on the first date was not a way to win me over.