All Things Beautiful, page 4
Some of them shrugged, but no one seemed bothered.
“The lights are motion-activated. If you arrive and they’re off, you’re the first one here. You have one job, and that’s making coffee.”
Stefan shouted an emphatic “Yes!” from the back of the room. Most of the group grinned and nodded in agreement.
“The ventilation system is also motion-activated.” She pointed to the array of ductwork hanging from the rafters high above the easels.
“All this new stuff is great, but are you sure you won’t spring for a coffeemaker with a motion sensor?” Jaiden elbowed Phoenix and laughed.
“I looked. They don’t make one yet. We’ll have to stick with the caveman way.” Leighton enjoyed the jokes and banter, but she intended to stay on track.
“These windows face north. As artists, I’m sure you know natural northern light is preferable when painting because it changes little throughout the day. You’ll notice that all the southern windows have blackout drapes on them. It’ll be a rare day you’ll see them open.” She crossed the room. “That’s why we reserve this side for other uses. Go ahead, help yourself to coffee and a doughnut, and look around.”
The group spread out, but Casey held Leighton’s attention. Casey wandered toward the bookshelf, but watching her wasn’t necessary. It was like Leighton sensed her presence wherever she was in the room.
Casey bent to read the spines of the books.
Curious, Leighton moved behind her to see which title in particular had caught her eye. Ah, a book of masterpieces by Artemisia Gentileschi. When Casey stood, Leighton rested her fingers on her arm. “It’s a great place to curl up with a catalogue raisonné when you need a break from painting.”
Casey looked at Leighton’s hand. “I can see myself doing that.”
“Yes, so can I.” Leighton removed her touch and turned back to the group. “A few final things. I have security cameras installed both here and in the gallery,” she pointed to the corner, “and the ventilation system I mentioned is state-of-the-art. One downside of oil paint is that we’ll be working with solvents that are hazardous to our health. My goal is to have as few fumes in here as possible, so I’ve installed this to ensure we’re breathing the highest quality air. If the system senses motion in the studio, it’s on.” She paused for effect.
“Now, I have some non-negotiable rules. The windows are to remain locked at all times. Keep the door to the fire escape closed except in the instance of a fire. Don’t prop open any stairwell door or the elevator doors. With the ventilation system we have, it’s unnecessary. Breaking these will be grounds for dismissal. Am I understood?”
The joking, jovial atmosphere disappeared. The second-years already knew this, and Leighton’s tone and demeanor seemed to have made her point to the first-years. They all nodded like bobbleheads.
Good. She was serious.
Slowly, Jenna raised her hand, her eyes again wide behind the rims of her glasses.
“You don’t have to raise your hand. Just speak.”
“Dismissal? Like, for the day?”
Leighton folded her arms across her chest. “Dismissal, expulsion. Call it what you will. I won’t tolerate non-compliance, not on these issues.”
Casey straightened like someone had electrocuted her. No one else moved or said a word. Leighton wasn’t sure they still breathed.
For a second, Leighton considered her harsh words, but she didn’t regret them, or her policies. She had to illustrate the seriousness of the issue, even if she frightened them. She’d put on her friendly face later. First, they needed to understand her rules, even if they didn’t know the reasons behind them. Based on their wide eyes and grim faces, she’d gotten her point across.
Chapter Five
Stunned, Casey stared at Leighton. The reactions of the other first-year students around the studio seemed to be the same. Stunned might be an understatement. Leighton had announced her strange rules so matter-of-factly, like she hadn’t just promised the worst repercussion imaginable for the most minor of infractions. And on top of that, she seemed almost pleased by their reactions. Casey didn’t understand.
“Let’s talk about some of the atelier’s other features.”
As Leighton passed, Casey felt her presence in the charged air between them. A chill shot through her, and she took a step back, giving Leighton far more room than necessary. She hadn’t meant to be so obvious, but moving away had been instinctual, like something warned her to keep her distance. Yet she wanted to be close to Leighton, although perhaps not while she was threatening expulsion. There was something enthralling about her. Casey regretted drawing attention to herself, attention that made her uncomfortable. Whatever Leighton harnessed had power, but Casey hadn’t decided if she liked or feared it.
“While natural light is preferable, it isn’t always sufficient, and it’s not available if you prefer to work at night.” Leighton pointed upward. “Each station has a set of bulbs above it. They’re tungsten, 3500-5000 Kelvin, white-balanced to mimic natural daylight.”
“Are they motion activated?”
Devin proved to be as annoying as ever, interrupting Leighton.
“No. You can turn them on to suit your needs. Each station has a single-mast oak easel.” She trailed her fingers along one before turning and resting her hand atop a waist-high cabinet. “You each have a taboret for holding your palette and storing your paints and brushes. These dark boxes are shadow boxes we’ll use when we study still life painting.” She adjusted the black fabric draped over the top of one.
Leighton seemed bored, like she’d rather be doing something else, and she probably would. Casey understood. She’d fought the duty versus desire battle before.
“We set up each station on a rug with a foam mat underneath.” Leighton poked at the edge with her black-booted toe. “It serves a dual purpose: it’s easier on your feet, and it keeps paint off the floor.”
“Do we need to bring stools?” Mikala surveyed the room.
Casey glanced around, too. Strange. No stools anywhere.
“No, we won’t be using them, at least not in the beginning.” Leighton leaned on the taboret.
Someone groaned.
“We didn’t do this last year.” Phoenix’s scowl emphasized his opinion on the matter.
Leighton blinked. “No, we didn’t.”
“So, we’ll be using the sight-size method?”
Of course, Devin had to flaunt his knowledge. Casey held in a sigh, remembering why she’d avoided being in the same spaces with him since their breakup. And this was only the beginning.
“That’s part of it.” Leighton straightened. “More importantly though, I want you to learn to distance yourself from your work and assess it. Standing is the best way to remember to step back once in a while. I grew tired of reminding last year’s students,” she smiled at Phoenix, “so I’m trying a new tactic.”
Casey cringed, thinking how her feet would feel after a day of standing at an easel, then working a shift on the hard floors of the art store. She made a mental note to save for a pair of comfortable shoes.
Leighton must have noticed the disgruntled looks around her. “It’s only temporary. Once you’re in the habit of stepping back and assessing your work, I’ll let you sit if you still want to, but by then, many of you won’t.”
Stefan laughed. “Look at their faces. I told you they’d balk when you made me haul the stools to the third floor.” He unwrapped a Starburst and popped it in his mouth.
Leighton shot him a look. “Haul? It took you one trip up the elevator. And don’t pretend you don’t agree with me.”
Casey caught a hint of teasing by the way Leighton’s mouth twitched. They must be friends. It’d be nice to have a place to learn where she knew everyone and felt like she belonged. She wanted to connect with these people, both the other students and her instructors. They had much in common, including their love of an artistic practice that had fallen by the wayside. She saw herself laughing, joking, and feeling at home while in the studio.
Leighton tilted her head toward Stefan. “Would you like to take it from here?”
He stepped forward. “Sure. You’re welcome to use the kitchen, just please clean up after yourselves. If you need to keep any food items frozen, put them in the refrigerator’s freezer. The chest freezer is for palettes and brushes only.”
“The freezer?” Devin chuckled.
Casey caught herself tapping her heel with the toe of her other shoe and stopped. Devin would be in her life again, and she’d have to adjust. She needed to cease her annoyance with him. He wasn’t a bad guy, and she’d liked him well enough. They’d enjoyed some good times together until she’d brought up having a baby.
“Oil paint doesn’t dry,” Stefan met Devin’s questioning gaze, “it oxidizes. Freezing temperatures retard the process. So, you can keep any unused paint on your palette and use it over days or even weeks.” He laughed. “Or if you’re like me and hate cleaning brushes, you can wrap them in aluminum foil, throw them in the freezer, and use them the next day. Just keep food away from paint and vice versa. We’ll talk more about the toxicity of certain pigments when it comes up.”
Casey couldn’t wait to attend class with Leighton. She was a sponge, ready to absorb all the knowledge from her she could. It still seemed surreal that Mrs. Shipton had given her a full scholarship to study at Atelier Vaughn.
It’d been one thing to admire Leighton’s talent, but Casey had wondered if she’d like her as a person. So far, she liked everything she’d seen, and her surreptitious glances had seen loads. Leighton’s suit and boot combination should be illegal.
“Along the same line, this sink is for dishes.” Stefan bumped his fist against the edge of the one in the kitchenette.
Casey curbed her daydreaming.
“That’s for cleaning brushes.” He walked toward a paint-splattered concrete utility sink in the far corner of the studio near the large workbench.
Everyone followed. Everyone except Leighton.
A few feet from them, she leaned against the back of a sofa and crossed her arms over her chest. The stance pressed her breasts together, giving Casey a glimpse of her cleavage. She looked away before Leighton caught her. Ogling her instructor on the first day wasn’t a good idea. Casey had been memorable enough by running into her downstairs.
Leighton had painted the voluptuous nude in the gallery, and she’d be teaching Casey how to do the same. Had Leighton been lovers with the woman? Casey had read enough about her online to know she was openly bisexual, and she recalled how glimpsing the intimate scene Leighton had painted with such a tender touch felt intrusive. Had Leighton run her hands over the woman’s body before she dragged her brush over canvas to create those soft undulations of flesh that made Casey want to stroke them? She trembled at the wave of unexpected arousal.
“This is the supply area.”
Stefan’s voice jolted Casey back to the present. Her pulse pounded as she checked to see if somehow anyone—specifically Leighton—had seen where her mind had been. How ridiculous.
“You’re responsible for purchasing your paints and brushes, as your welcome letter stated, but you’ll find the other supplies you’ll need in these cabinets. They’re here for you to use for class projects. The workbench area is for preparing canvases, varnishing, framing, or anything else where you’ll need a horizontal surface.”
Phoenix elbowed Jaiden, and they laughed so hard they couldn’t stop. Leighton raised her chin.
Stefan gave them a wry look and rubbed the top of his head, making his thinning hair stick up. Once they’d calmed down, he motioned toward the end of the room. “Those two glass boxes are our offices. If our doors are open, you’re welcome to come in.”
Casey craned her neck to see Leighton’s. She assumed the corner one with a small bouquet on the desk belonged to her. Diplomas and certificates graced the walls, as well as small oil paintings. The desk held little more than a laptop, a sparse and stark contrast to most of the artist spaces she’d seen in her lifetime.
Clutter filled the second office, and half-unpacked boxes littered the floor. An open bag of popcorn had tipped over on the desk. Nothing hung on the walls.
When she turned back toward Stefan, Leighton watched her. Casey shivered. What was it about Leighton that unsettled her? It could be infatuation. She was one of the biggest names in realism, and Casey had admired her for years. If only the articles and websites had posted better pictures of her instead of the candid shots where she was talking or gesturing. Casey had been able to tell she was good-looking, but the photos didn’t portray how attractive she was in person. Leighton was gorgeous. Would Casey stumble under the gaze of another woman of equal beauty? She wasn’t sure since she couldn’t ever recall being in the presence of someone so stunning.
Casey shook her head. It wasn’t professional to objectify her teacher. Leighton’s painting had affected her. Was her unease because of that? A greater question lingered. Was she more drawn to Leighton as an artist or as a woman? She rubbed her forehead and chastised herself for having such thoughts. Leighton was her teacher and at least a decade older.
Stefan stopped near the center of the easel stations beside a model stand. “Let’s talk about music.”
That subject seemed to grab everyone’s interest. Everyone except Casey’s. Why couldn’t she focus on anything besides Leighton? The first day featured explanations and introductions, and she should pay attention. If Leighton quizzed them, she’d certainly fail.
“We divide your time here into class and open studio time, the latter being whenever class is not being held.”
Mark slung his arm over Casey’s shoulders, a common move for him. She was shorter, and he liked to lean on her. Normally, it didn’t bother her, but when Leighton’s eyes slightly widened, her lips parted, and one of her eyebrows went askew, she wanted to squirm. She didn’t want Leighton to assume she and Mark were anything but friends. Casey barely knew her, but Leighton’s image of her mattered for reasons yet unclear.
She shrugged from beneath Mark’s arm. “Sorry.” She bent to retie her shoelace that didn’t need retying, and when she stood, Mark had propped his forearms on the taboret instead.
Leighton turned her attention to Stefan.
He’d moved on to AirPods and headphones being allowed during open studio times but not class, and Casey half listened, catching the highlights of there being opportunities to learn from feedback given to another student or spontaneous demonstration techniques.
Stefan stopped in front of a Belgian art horse, a simple wooden bench with a raised end on which a drawing board could be supported. He straddled the seat and looked at Leighton. “That’s all I have.”
“Thank you, Stefan.” Leighton uncrossed her arms and stood, directing her attention to the students. “Okay. We’ve given you pertinent information this morning about the building, the studio, and some of the rules. Now, everyone sit, and let’s talk about what’s really important.” She flashed a wide grin like she’d found a clue to the whereabouts of the artwork stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
Casey grinned back as she scurried to a couch, and when Leighton sauntered to a spot in her line of vision just outside the furniture grouping, Casey’s blood pounded so loudly she could hear it.
“You’re all here for one reason. Each of your applications expressed a desire to learn classical painting methods that have been around for centuries. Despite some of you holding art degrees, you felt that your prior education has been lacking in these practices.” She turned and began a slow stroll, following the curve of the circle. As she passed the first chair, she grazed her fingertips along the top of the plush backrest, almost trailing them through Erica’s hair.
What would that feel like? Casey stiffened against a light flurry in her belly.
“Part of that’s because the material covered in undergraduate degree programs is an inch deep and a mile wide. However, the revolutionary art movements that came about during the twentieth century that shifted focus toward modern art are also to blame. Unfortunately, the time-honored practice of teaching classical realism fell by the wayside for over fifty years.”
As Leighton’s path brought her gradually closer, Casey turned her head to keep her concentration on Leighton’s face and words. The movement of her touch from one backrest to the next and the way she seemed to caress the fabric as she passed created a challenging distraction, though.
“We’ve seen a return to realism,” Leighton continued, “at least in some areas. We’ll teach you the methods they’ve taught in the ateliers and academies of Europe since the Renaissance. Those ateliers were studios where apprentices learned from and worked with masters.” She smiled a coy smile. “That said, neither Stefan nor I proclaim to be masters at our craft, nor do we want to teach you to paint in our styles. Our goal is to give you the knowledge needed to paint realism while finding your own.”
Casey’s heart fluttered in her chest, likely due to the potential the year held. Well, mostly. But neither her fascination with Leighton nor her nerves could dampen her enthusiasm, and she planned to learn everything she could at Atelier Vaughn. It was the fulfillment of her dream, a step toward becoming an accomplished and successful painter to support herself and Andy, to give him the life he deserved. How had she been wondering just hours ago if she’d made the correct decision?
“Your application asked for a written recommendation, preferably from one of my former students.”
Leighton now stood at the end of the couch on which Casey sat, only one person away. So close Casey had to crane her neck to continue looking at her.
