Drawing from Life Chapter 2 begins:
After dressing and
clearing away breakfast the next morning, Rhona had plenty of time for an easy
paced walk to the train. She was in Devonport just after 9.30, tousled after
the boat ride but exhilarated.
Leaving the Ferry
Building, she crossed over by the Esplanade and walked slowly up Victoria Road.
She hadn’t been to Devonport since her boys were babies. She found the little
arcade she used to love on the site of an old bakery and settled herself at a
café table near the disused brick ovens. She ordered coffee and croissants and
sat idly going through the contents of her bag, trying to cover the discomfort
of sitting there alone. Right at the bottom was a spiral bound A5 notebook,
which she had bought on impulse about a month ago and carried around in her bag
ever since. After gazing tentatively at the inner page for a moment or two, Rhona
took up her pencil and wrote the date and time. Her order arrived. She doodled
little stars across the page as she ate.
Dividing her page in half lengthwise, she
tried to empty her conscious mind to let an idea through. That reminded her of
Jung, of the subconscious and his arch-types. That could be a series of
paintings- someone’s. She hadn’t picked
up a brush since she was a girl. Nevertheless, images surfaced: A Fool,
stepping forward unaware; enraptured Lovers –the choice of Paris; a wizened
Hermit. Pass. It was time to move.
Finding herself out
on the road to the Naval Dock Rhona turned to make her way slowly back along
the Parade. She stopped outside the window of an art glass shop and looked. Her
friend Charlie had a partner who worked with glass these days, but she hadn’t
seen his work yet. She looked on the card labels, but couldn’t see any with his
name on them. Some of the pieces were beautiful whorls of opalescence on
restful forms. The colours were pretty, but it reminded her of the Museum and
it was hard to concentrate.
Further along the
road towards the Masonic, she followed the foreshore path beside the playground
and the old rowing club shed. As she was on the point of turning back she
caught sight of a sign for a gallery, just past the hotel. Last time she had
been here it was a cake shop.
Once inside, a middle
aged man immediately came out from the back of the premises to greet her.
“Good morning madam.”
He had a heavy European accent and an energetic way of walking as he moved down
the long room towards her. His worn cable-knit pullover and round balding head reminded
her of a retired seaman.
“Good Morning. I have
stumbled upon you by accident. May I look around?”
“An accidental
customer – the very best. Please make yourself at home. I am Claus
Petersen proprietor”
Rhona shook his hand,
laughing. “Rhona Manners explorer. Good to meet you Claus.”
He nodded and
gestured around the gallery. “Excuse me if I leave you to your own devices for
a little while. I have some new pieces and pictures arrived this morning that
are begging for my attention. Just call me if I can help with anything.”
Claus had a varied
stock. There was a series of small bronze sculptures – all very skeletal– along
with a good amount of studio pottery and art glass. As she progressed to the
back of the gallery the tone, and the prices, became increasingly serious.
There were one or two good colonial period pictures. She noted a group of
smaller works, gathered together, all by early twentieth century students of
the Canterbury Art School. He also had some truly superb images by a German
photographer. She was studying one of these black and white seascapes when
Claus returned to stand beside her.
“Ah you like photography yourself?”
“Well I learnt it at
Uni – it was part of the art course you know? It’s the one thing I have done
ever since, of all those skills we learned.”
“Well artist Rhona
did you ever learn about your namesake at the Uni? I have one of her pictures
just arrived. It’s for my Canterbury group.”
“My namesake? Oh you
must mean Rhona Haszard? May I see it please?”
“Sure I shall set it
up here on this easel for you – one moment.”
Claus disappeared
again and returned a few moments later looking very animated.
“I am very pleased
with this.” He placed the small watercolour on the easel with a little sotto
voce “so” and stood back for her to see it.
“Well,” Rhona said
after pausing a breath or two. “This means a great deal to me.”
She turned to him,
reaching out to lay her hand on his forearm. “My maiden name is Hagar. Isn’t
that strange, how similar the names are. Don’t you think it strange?”
He was watching her
with an uncomfortable expression when she turned back to the easel. She looked
again a moment before saying “This must have seemed very modern at the time.”
“I think,” Claus was
choosing his words carefully, “some found her directness discomforting.” He
coughed lightly.
“Oh. Yes I see.”
Rhona blushed.
Claus went on. “It
was one of a number of drawings of France, Brittany in particular. This was the
only one of hers amongst them.”
Careful now to keep a
bland expression on her face she said “Congratulations. It is a beauty.” She made
her polite smile and moved back down the gallery saying “Thank you for sparing
the time to show me.”
He walked with her to
the door as if partly regretting the interview was ending. “Come again now you
know where we are.”
“Oh certainly. Soon I
hope.” With a final lift of her hand she slipped back out into the sharp
breeze.
No comments:
Post a Comment