They toured around the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Liesl was breathless.
“You know someday your art could be here.”
“Oh gosh, no.” She stared at him incredulously. “These are the masters.” She stared at a Van Gogh. “His cypress paintings are divine.”
“You are very talented in your own right.”
“Not comparable to Van Gogh,” she giggled at his stern expression. “Isaias, my art may as well be stick-figures compared to this.”
“Not true. Your art speaks to people, Liesl. I heard the conversations you had at your show. People feel your art. They get lost in the emotions you convey. The painting I bought years ago, for example, brings me to a relaxing place. When I’ve had a day where everything has gone wrong, I can sit and stare at the painting and feel the calm surround me.”
“Really?” she eyed him curiously.
“Definitely. I’m not feeding you a line, Liesl. I already had you in my bed. I don’t need to feed you bullshit to get you back there. My cock already has you ready to jump back in.”
“Oh,” she slapped his arm as he chuckled naughtily.
“What is about the painting which makes you feel calm?”
“When I was a teenager, my parents and I went on our first family vacation. We had only been back with our parents about a year or so. I would have been twelve or almost thirteen. We went to this park to go camping. Sidenote,” he grinned at her, “my mother discovered during this week how much she loathes the outdoors and camping. She got eaten alive by mosquitos and a snake crawled into her sleeping bag while she was in it.”
At Liesl’s giggle he squeezed her hand. “Anyway, I remember laying in the hammock, hearing my dad teasing my sister and my mom singing while she was getting lunch together. The sky was blue with wispy little clouds and there was a field behind our campground which felt like it went on for miles but looking back it was probably only a hundred feet or so. There were hundreds of wildflowers in the field. The painting I have from you is a painting of field of gold and red flowers. Each time I look at the picture, I am catapulted back to being in a hammock at thirteen, with my family. Everyone was happy and relaxed, and it was a good day. Your painting, makes me feel good.”
She couldn’t look at him as a tear escaped the corner of her eye. She had always dreamed to hear a patron feel a personal connection to her art and having this man be so boldly expressive of his feelings felt incredible. She leaned her head to his bicep and pursed her lips as they entered another hall of paintings.
“You are very quiet,” he commented, stroking the top of her hand he held clasped absentmindedly. “Are you okay?”
“I want to say something but I’m afraid to ruin the moment.”
“It is every artist’s dream for their work to be appreciated and to have someone claim an emotional connection to it. When I was married to Merlin, I painted and he would tell me how beautiful it was or how much money it would probably make at a show but in eight years of being together, not once did he ever make any comment about my work making him feel a certain way. Eight years and never did my art evoke sentiment in him. When we first got married and bought the house, I would wait excitedly for him to come home so I could show him what I’d done. He never looked at a painting and described anything even remotely close to how you did just now. I know I shouldn’t compare you to one another but,” she wiped a tear off her cheek as she stopped to stare at a painting on the wall, “I can’t help it. I lost part of me when I realized the person, I cared for was never going to have an emotional response to my art and my work suffered for it. I started to spend more time restoring other people’s art than doing my own.” She met his gaze shyly and was grateful to see there was no anger or annoyance in his expression. “Hearing you tell me you look at the painting and it brings you to a happy memory is exhilarating and it makes me crave a brush and canvas.” She didn’t look away from him, despite the tears now flowing, “even if tomorrow you tell me this is over, I will never forget this,” she waved her hand around them and between them, “for as long as I live. Thank you, Isaias.”
“It is my absolute pleasure, Liesl.” He wiped a tear off her cheek. “You amaze me. The way you feel things so deeply blows my mind.” He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead and then they continued walking pausing to examine painting after painting. “I never want you to hold back from me how you feel, even if it means you mention your ex. All of your feelings are important to me.”
“You are an incredible man. It blows my mind you’re single.”
“I’m not anymore,” he winked at her playfully. He motioned for her to walk, “you should keep going though or I’m likely to get us thrown out of here for public indecency. I want you again.”
She giggled and slugged his shoulder as they continued walking. It wasn’t long and she was mesmerized again by the artistry in the museum. She was talking his ear off, and she knew it, but he was patient with her.
“I think we’ve only been through a quarter of the galleries.” She said sadly when she caught him glancing at his wristwatch. “We need to get going though, don’t we?”
“We do.” He said with a quiet nod. “We won’t be making the walk, through Central Park but we can come back another time and stay longer.”
She smiled at his words. “I would like that. I hope you weren’t bored with me yakking at every turn.”
“Not even remotely.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
Her eyes caught his wristwatch, and she grabbed it. “It’s really four o’clock?”
He chuckled, “it is. I don’t mind. My only complaint is I’m starving. We ate pastries and coffee for breakfast hours ago. I need food. The jet is on standby to get us home and dinner will be served on the plane. Should we get going?”
“Yes.” She looked around the museum longingly. “I could spend a hundred years in here and never get tired. I’m feeling very inspired.”
He smiled, “come on then. Let’s get you out of here. You’ll be painting a storm up all week.”
She looked him over, “Actually, I kind of want to sculpt.”
“You sculpt?”
“Yes. I used to anyway. Not for several years but I used to do pretty well with it.”
“Can you show me?”
“My phone is still dead but next time we see each other, I’ll show you some photos of my old portfolio. My sculptures are in storage now.” She sighed, “I need to go through it all for when I move into my new place.”
“You bought a place?”
“No. Fred’s been great, but I know they enjoy being their own little family. I promised them I’d start looking this week for a place to move into. They told me there was no pressure but I’m going to rent for a while. I feel like I’m in a period of flux and after being settled down, tied down really, I’m not ready to commit to anything, not even a mortgage right now.”
He nodded at her words, “I get it. Well, if you need any help finding a space let me know. I happen to know a lot of local realtors and I don’t mind helping.”
“I appreciate the offer,” she climbed into the back of the car with him right behind her. “I’ll probably take you up on it.”
As their weekend away drew to a close, Liesl considered this was by far the most healing weekend she could have spent. Isaias was good for her soul. She was returning to Manchester with a renewed spirit and less bitter heart. She prayed this feeling never ended.
