“I will be a famous artist like Bryan,” Jolie suddenly proclaimed. “People will come the world over to see my masterpieces.”
This was followed by much laughter and consternation by family and friends present in the garden, where her brother, Bryan, was showing some of his latest art work.
Although she was mystified about why he only painted city scenes and ladies, Jolie admired her older sibling’s work.
“It takes years of hard work and practice to become any good at it, dear,” her mother said. “You haven’t once picked up a brush.”
“I am fast learner,” the young lady retorted.
“Besides, you’re a woman,” said her cousin, Betty.
Jolie’s face turned red. “What does being a wom-“
“Oh please, don’t get her started,” said uncle Tom.
“I suppose you agree with Betty then?” Jolie said to him with hands on her hips.
“The only thing I agree on is that I’m not having this debate again, and I will go avail myself of drink,” said the uncle getting up from his chair and disappearing inside the house.
Turning to her audience of family and friends, Jolie said, “I will be an artist and prove you wrong.”
Aunt Claire began to clap.
“You can do anything you put your mind to, honey," she said, "and don’t let anyone tell you different.” Aunt Claire was the only one who understood Jolie. She wasn’t like other adults with their grumpy take on things. Her aunt didn’t have any children of her own, so she did not speak like a parent, more like a sister.
Later in the afternoon, when Jolie had a chance to sneak away from the gathering, she went up to the attic, where her brother had set up a studio and had left some of his old art supplies before moving to the city.
The light from the windows on the ceiling streamed beautiful hues into the room. Dust particles- disturbed when she opened the trapdoor- glistened in the air. She loved the stillness of the silence in which these treasures and bits of family history resided.
Her eyes fell on one of the chests Bryan kept. Thankfully, the chest had no lock. When she opened it, she was greeted by a pile of art supplies. Perfect! She soon began to scavenge for tools.
As she rummaged through the chest, she noticed that there was an ornate rectangular wooden box at the bottom. Pulling it out, she blew on its top and sent out a cloud of dust glittering through the air. She remembered this box. Bryan had used it when he started his career as an engraver and illustrator for Mr. Wesson’s publications. She opened it carefully and saw that it still had many supplies- brushes, pencils, rulers, paint tubes, chalk, tape, scissors, and even sheets of paper wrapped in a gold ribbon.
While she had not painted herself in any formal manner, as her mother had so rudely pointed out in the garden, she had spent a lot of time looking at her brother’s work and process. She recognized some of the supplies, and even remembered the works that Bryan had created with them.
She wrapped the box in a cloth, and with it under her arm, she quietly left the attic.
Later that week, when Jolie had finally gotten a chance to be on her own, she placed the artist box in the bicycle basket, and making sure nobody was around to see her, she rode towards the outskirts of town.
Fields of flowers soon came into view. Blue, red, yellow, and many more colours covered the landscape in broad brush strokes. On the north side, the vibrant crops of New Avalon farms swept the landscape. Jolie turned southward down the valley, towards the Jonson river. Seeds from the adjacent farms had taken root in the surrounding area, and so the valley was dotted with a mix of colourful flowers throughout summer.
“I guess any spot is as good as any,” she said.
One had to start somewhere, and as she had no clear idea what she was doing, she rode along an overgrown path until she found a spot near the river.
The landscape was dotted with sunflowers, violets, roses, marigolds, tulips, and a wide assortment of exotic specimens that somehow ended up on this side of the valley. Some town folks had complained about the invading flowers, but she found them pretty nonetheless.
She spread out the box, which had many compartments and drawers. It also had a painting board on which she could tape the paper the way she had seen her brother do it. She knew that Bryan had gone through a more laborious preparatory process before putting pen to paper, but she was truly at a loss on the details.
Never mind that, she thought. One has to start somewhere.
The reality and magnitude of the work hit her as soon as she began drawing. Her lines were crooked, her circles were not circles, proportions were uneven. Agh! She let out many sighs that afternoon, but through trial, error, and perseverance, she finally had a base sketch.
Over the next few weeks, whenever she could sneak away on her own, she rode her bike to New Avalon fields where she experimented with the painting tools in the box. To be honest, her work was terrible, but she could see a progression in her skill, and this made her happy.
Thankfully, it was a busy summer season, and her parents were usually away on some business or other. So, she had many opportunities to sneak out of the house without getting caught. Except once.
“You really gonna do it, huh?” said a voice as Jolie was stealthily grabbing her bike from the shed.
It was her aunt Claire. She was smoking a cigar.
“Please don’t tell my mother,” Jolie said.
“I won’t tell if you don’t tell her about the cigar. You’re just as stubborn as she is anyway. I know there’s no stopping you. Just don’t let any scoundrel get fresh with you.”
Jolie promised she wouldn’t let any scoundrel get fresh with her, whatever that meant.
On the outskirts of town, where the flowers grew particularly tall in the fields, she was riding at high speed, distracted by her encounter with her aunt. She did not see the horse-drawn wagon that suddenly appeared around the bend. She yelped and squealed then veered sharply causing the handles to twist and turn, sending the bike (along with her on top) crashing onto a patch of tulips and sunflowers.
“Goodness me!” said the driver bringing his horse to a halt then jumping off the wagon. “Are you alright, miss?”
Jolie stood up half dazed, then remembering her painting box, she began to look around for it.
“Is everything alright?” said the driver.
“Oh no,” exclaimed Jolie with the box on her lap. “I’ve lost my brushes. Bryan is going to kill me.”
The driver came to help her extricate her bike from the bushes.
For the first time, she noticed that he was young and probably not much older than she was.
“What sort of brushes might those be, miss?” He inquired.
“For artistic pursuits,” she said, suddenly becoming aware that she was talking to a stranger. A stranger who had almost ran her over. A stranger who was a boy!
“Paintbrushes then?” said the lad. “Well this is your lucky day, miss,” he said opening the back of the wagon. “Because I have plenty of brushes, as you can see.”
Indeed. The wagon was filled to the top with all manner of products, including painting supplies. She marveled at them all: clips, swatches, holders, erasers, guides, rulers, and the bits and bobs of stationery delight.
“I’m afraid I haven’t got any royals on me,” she said. “Perhaps some other time.”
“I tell you what,” he said. “I will give you this set free of charge.”
“Free of charge? Oh my, I couldn’t accept such a gift from a stranger. You’re not trying to get fresh with me, are you?”
“Fresh? I don't think so. I mean, I don’t sell any vegetables, miss. I’m Joey the Wanderer- purveyor of fine goods and remedies.”
“Then why would you give me such a gift?” she insisted with her arms crossed.
“It is not free, miss. If I give you the brushes, then you have to promise that when you become a famous artist, you will tell your audience about Joey the Wanderer- purveyor of fine goods and remedies. And…”
“And?” she said raising an eyebrow.
“And I would like you to include me in one of your paintings.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what the word means, but just take a look at this face and remember me well,” he said, turning his head this way and that, so she could see his face from different angles.
“How do you know that I’m going to keep my word, should I give it to you?” Jolie asked the lad.
“Just call it a haunch,” he said, handing her the brushes. Before she could object, he jumped back on the wagon, took the reigns, and snapped them.
The horse snorted and taking his cue, he began galloping down the road.
Jolie did not know what to make of this whole episode, but at the end of it, she was now standing by the side of the road with a brand new set of brushes.
Too rattled to concentrate on her work, she decided to go home instead and come back another day to try her new brushes.
It rained for two weeks, and when it wasn’t raining, the weather was still gloomy. So, she hadn’t gotten a chance to go work on her paintings. She took the time to read some of the books that her brother had purchased a few years ago to learn more about the ‘art and science' of painting. In one of these works, she came across the idea that one should think of the canvass as a volume of space that already contains the objects one fancies, and it is the job of the artist to shape that space and discover those objects of imagination. She would try to keep this in mind next time she returned to her painting.
The sky finally cleared one afternoon, and she made her way to New Avalon fields. The sun shone bright, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers. It was an intoxicating blend of different aromas. They made her light-headed, but in a highly pleasant and stimulating kind of way. The colours seemed more vivid and sharp, as if everything was alive and new.
Overlooking the river, her eyes unfocused until she could no longer distinguish each shape on the horizon. It was all a blob of colours on the canvass of her vision.
Drawing was much easier now. She had developed a sense of what was needed and what wasn’t. She no longer pressed the pencil as if her life depended on it, but let it lightly glide across the pebbly surface of the paper. She let it mold the space of the frame and draw out the objects that were already there. The focus was no longer on each individual piece of the environment, but on the whole, including the empty spaces.
When she finished the sketch, she looked at it and felt a pang of joy. It looked better than anything she had drawn up to then. She tried to temper her happiness and reminded herself that just because the initial sketch looked good didn’t mean that the painting would turn out alright.
Finally, she was ready to use her new brushes. She fished one out of its leather case. The colour of the wood was a pleasant reddish brown, and the bristles felt soft and lovely on her cheek.
She lost herself in the world of colours and shapes. The world of emptiness and volume. All around her, the intoxicating aroma of the flowers left her invigorated and feeling suspended, as if on a cloud. Her mind felt fluid and free-flowing, clear but with a delightful drowsiness that made everything looked so lively.
The new brushes were magnificent. Their bristles were not all over the place like the old ones but kept their shape when dipped in water and paint. Admiring the brushes, she recalled the incident that day, and the mysterious Joey the Wanderer- purveyor of fine goods and remedies.
She dipped her brush in paint absent-mindedly. Her mind wandered off, and she wasn't really aware of what she was doing until she came to herself, as if woken from a dream. She noticed that she had made an addition to her painting. It was a circular blob in the middle, just above the fields of flowers. She continued working the paint on the paper with the brush, stretching the bottom edges of the circular blob until it looked like a hot air balloon.
She hadn’t intended to add the balloon but somehow it seemed right. It filled the space nicely. Looking at it closely, she noticed that it was missing a detail- the wicker basket was empty. So she blended some darker colours and added the silhouette of two figures in the basket.
She smiled and her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
At that moment, she caught movement on the periphery of her vision, and she looked up. To her amazement, she saw a hot air balloon flying above the valley and gliding in her direction.
She stood up, not quite believing what she was seeing as the large object came closer. She could see a figure in the basket, and it appear to be waving its hands.
“Ahoy!” the word echoed across the valley. The voice sounded familiar. Was it him?
Jolie put away her supplies while keeping an eye on the balloon.
A rope ladder fell on the side of the basket. The figure pointed and said, “Lookout point!”
She turned and saw the look out point on top of the hill. She would have to run there. Was he mad? There was only one way to find out.
Panting, she reached the point and climbed onto the platform.
“Hullo, Miss!”
It was him. Joey the Wanderer- purveyor of fine goods and remedies!
The balloon glided slowly as the lad carefully maneuvered it towards the look out point.
Jolie’s heart was racing as she grabbed the rope ladder and held on for dear life.
“Woo!” Joey shouted and laughed. He took her hand and helped aboard the basket.
“I can’t believe it!” she said looking over the edge as her bike grew smaller on the ground with the balloon's rapid ascent.
“I knew you’d keep your promise,” said Joey.
"I think you presume too much."
He laughed, then pulling on some cords and levers, he lit a great flame that burst with a hiss, lifting them aloft above the fields of New Avalon and beyond.
Images generated by @litguru using generative art software