Present and aware

At the dentist today my hygienist commented on the efficacy of staying present for the two minutes it takes to brush our teeth. Her remark interested me. Alert present awareness has been the topic of the week at my place.

In an unaware moment- a few days ago- I spoke out of turn. The resulting hurt brought me sharply into the Now - too late to prevent harm but soon enough to lovingly seek a solution. Once again it was brought home to me: positive engagement with any other life is only possible when I am present, attentive to the real time interaction.

I am working on it now, so I made a pledge: to become pro' at living Now- all of my relationships are too precious for second rate anything, you see. 

At least none of us need to learn alone. I have asked my guides for help with this one, in the certain knowledge that Love Here and Now is their top priority too.

The Closing Chapter of Drawing From Life:

Philip woke early Monday morning. Although he was weakened and light headed  the crisis seemed over. He had a firm appointment for ten thirty. That had to be attended to, even if he came home to rest afterwards.

Keeping to a light breakfast of toast, he played his voice mail while he ate. There were no urgent business calls. He paused to listen closely to Rhona’s voice when it came on. He could hear concern but all she said was “Call me when you can.” Well he couldn’t yet, that was obvious.

It was Bill who had left a message on his home phone. He offered a sort of an apology or an admission of misunderstanding anyway. Philip knew he would have to respond to that at some stage. At present he had nothing to say.

Such tremendous pressure seemed to be pressing in on him from all sides. This next opening was no bigger than any other, but his expectations for it were far higher. Bill had made his choice, or had it made for him, but that could not alter the fact that their long standing friendship was now seriously under threat. Then there was Rhona. After being so unguarded as to reveal his attachment what was he to do about the expectation he had raised there? Such a declaration as he had made could not be ignored indefinitely.

The throbbing pain at his temples had returned as Philip drove to the museum. Physical debility was easy enough to compensate for. It was the mental and emotional turmoil he was unused to operating under. Only his years of professional discipline enabled him to place his personal concerns at the back of his mind while he visualised the desired outcome for the interview.

The meeting was conducted at the rear of the shop. Business was nearly concluded, and satisfactorily so, when the manager said something about display space. Philip glanced up toward the main front window. He felt an impact just under his rib cage and must have made some sound because the man asked him if he was OK.

He nodded but his voice sounded seedy “Just a bit off colour. You were saying?”

While he tried to listen Philip watched Rhona. She was beside the window but her face was turned away from it. She was wearing jeans and a green jersey in a light weight knit. She had the leather bag with her she often took walking, or when she wanted her hands free. He watched her study the stone of the column beside her and examine the metal stand with the concert party performance times written on it. With her middle finger she was making small circles on the place between her eyes. It occurred to him that the place where he was sitting was obscured from the front window. She had not seen him.

Rhona turned away then. He could see she wasn’t looking where she was going. She bumped an older woman and he watched her apologise before she hurried out of his sight in the direction of the exit. Philip concluded the meeting as quickly as decency allowed, hurrying to catch her.

Outside it was raining. He finally spotted her, sheltering on the porch and rifling in her bag. He called but she didn’t hear him. When he came closer, not too close, he said “Have you lost something?”

Her hand froze when he spoke, but she seemed composed when she stood up, pushing her hair back. “It doesn’t matter …”

He pulled her further back under the roof of the porch. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Look at me please.”

His dark grey suit had wet specks on the shoulder where the rain had caught him. She reached up to brush the damp away, watching her fingers on the cloth. A hand came under her chin and, none too gently, turned her face to look at him. She couldn’t see properly but it didn’t matter.  “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged but he was already asking “Did you drive here?” When she shook her head he took her elbow and pulled her down the steps “Come with me.”

Ignoring the rain he steered her the short distance to his car and. opening the passenger door, he said “Get in.” without looking at her.

He climbed in his side in silence, started the car and backed out quickly. She started to ask  where they were going but he cut her off brutally. “Be quiet Rhona. Don’t speak.”

He drove fast for the wet conditions, but safely. She sat with her eyes closed facing out the passenger window. When she felt the sounds change and the car stop she looked again. They were in a small underground car park. He got out and came around to her side. “Come with me,” he said briskly. His face was a stone face. They went over to the lift where he jammed the button with the side of a closed fist.

She whispered “Why are you so angry with me?” He would not answer. They entered the enclosed space together. When the lift stopped they were in a foyer she recognised. He opened his door, still without speaking. When she didn’t move he pulled her through. His fingers hurt her hand. Throwing the door shut behind him, Philip left his arm on it, rigid above her head, blocking her there. He spoke very quietly in precise, clipped words. “I am not angry with you. I am livid with myself. All this waiting- waiting for clients, opportunities, for the right time to…to…So angry”, he took a shallow gasp of air, “and now I have frightened you.”

Keeping still and silent, she watched him carefully.

“I…I am not a violent man.” His other hand was around her throat. “but right now I could…”

“Yes”, she said calmly, “but you would violate yourself as well- as you know.”

He rested his head on his out-stretched arm, with his forehead near to hers. “Is this a break down? Is that what it is? My mind is hung on trivia- over and over. I am looking at you down a tube while something eats out my insides.” He threw his head up “That snake, your painting of the snake was…”

“Yes” Slowly she moved his hand from where it rested, slack now on her collar bone. “Would you go and lie down please. I will come and sit with you if you would like that.”

 “Thank you.” He was trying to sound more controlled. “I had better pull myself together.”

She was following him through to the lounge. “I’m not sure that would be a smart thing to do just yet. Your foundations are fractured.”

He sat heavily on the sofa. Rhona took the top end, drawing him gently down until he was lying flat out with his head in her lap. She kept quiet, letting her fingers massage his forehead and scalp with rhythmic circular movement. Eventually he relaxed and nestled his head more comfortably against her.

He tried to explain himself. “I was ill, but Rhona I think it was our conversation the other night and … and an argument- not an argument exactly- Bill came.” She only nodded, which he couldn’t see, as his eyes were shut.  “So theoretically there was no problem. It’s just that I can’t…I want…” He looked up at her. “I suppose you think I’m incapable.”

He was treated to her soft smile and caressing touch on his cheek. “I don’t think anything. You are doing more than enough of that on your own.” It was a white lie of course. She was thinking all right. Thinking poor Philip you have locked yourself between lose and lose. You are being challenged to create something new, rather than maintain the status quo. Thinking that whichever choice you make you will not go back on it. She wondered at how terrified he was of making a mistake.

He lay with his eyes shut a while and neither spoke. Eventually he rubbed his eyes with his palms and sat up. “Will you marry me?”

She shook her head, smiling. He just stared at her, incredulous “But you said…” Her eyes were sparkling and there was that curl to her lips that he loved. “What’s so funny? I’m serious.”

“So am I. Come on Philip, feel it. You don’t want to marry me, or anyone else. You feel you should.  Or you feel other people –somebody- expects it.” She began to laugh. “You would hate it. Your privacy is not just precious, it’s necessary to you. I am willing to bet you even dread sharing a bathroom.” She was clearly much amused by the idea. “Well? Am I right?”

He smiled back, looking all of eighteen years old when he did. “I solemnly pledge that the next time I meet an intuitive woman I shall run away. So you knew all this and now I feel a fool. Why didn’t I talk to you?”

“Let’s see. May be because that is only the preliminary issue.” He resisted her attempts to push him back to a reclining position. Instead he sat up extending his arm along the sofa behind her and demanding she explain what she meant.

Rhona leaned into him, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. It was still damp on the shoulders and probably not doing him any good. She tried to avoid answering but he insisted. She joked she wasn’t qualified to act as his analyst. His caustic reply goaded her to say “There are other issues obviously. You are not simply substituting mistresses I presume. There would have been no difficulty there, once the marriage expectation was out of the way. So it can’t be that which is causing you distress." She paused a moment, considering her words. "The traditional social or economic arrangements are no use to you, so clearly you are being asked to invent a solution.”

“Why did I think you were in any way romantic?" He brushed his finger on her cheek, without moving his arm. “We are not discussing a business arrangement.  An unofficial couple is a binary lose-lose in my opinion.”

 She shrugged, “There is a third possibility. It’s hard to express- say two independent individuals in complete sympathy – not either/or but both/beside. Does that make sense?”

He let his head flop against the back of the sofa. “Interesting- a spiral model of relationship. As an intellectual exercise this is comforting Rhona, but we’re not resolving anything.”

He got up. With jerky movements of his arms and legs Philip moved to stand braced at the balcony doorway. His head hung down. “Sometimes”, he said to his shoes, “sometimes I wish I had never met you.”

Rhona had come to stand beside him, looking at the rain swept view. “Not to worry, the feeling is mutual.”

He spun her around to face him, taking her by the shoulder. “What does that mean? What you just said.”

She raised an eyebrow at his hand pinching into her shoulder but he ignored the hint to remove it. She wanted to scream. He was so stupid sometimes. “It means I am sick of watching you wallowing in your ego centred self imposed misery. It means I want a whole man – not some martyr or some chicken hearted aesthete of a monk.”

“I don’t understand you.” She was a beautiful creature on fire. It was a novel experience to see her livid like this. He almost forgot why he was angry with her. The sight of her so indignant decided him. He thought, I want her- today.

He tried so hard to concentrate. She was in full flow now. “Don’t look at me like that. You understand perfectly but you don’t want to hear it. You think you are on edge now? What will happen if you open your heart to hear what you are so thoroughly blocking?” He only realized he was smiling when she said “What are you smirking at? You have had me standing here practically begging but you’re so wrapped up in yourself you have so far failed to notice.”

“You are not making sense”, he whispered. A stray curl had fallen over her cheek and gently he positioned it behind her ear. He watched it to make sure it stayed there as he interrupted the monologue. “I want you to stay here with me today. The long term arrangements can work themselves out.” He saw she was looking up at him with a strange light in her eyes that made him very hopeful for a positive outcome.

“I thought you were supposed to be ill.” She was beginning to smile. “I’m a useless nurse – no skill at all.”

“Pity.” He was leading her from the lounge, gently tugging at her hand. “What are you like on pastoral care?”

For the first time in his adult life Philip experienced absolute personal freedom. It was her complete acceptance of him that he responded to first- her child like delight in him, her curiosity. He found he was no longer sure what was, and what was not, appropriate emotional context between adults. Her tenderness and vulnerability drew those same qualities from him. She wanted nothing and feared nothing.

Over lunch Rhona announced that he seemed to be recovering satisfactorily- despite her robust approach to care-giving. Philip loved the way she used humour to balance profoundly emotional situations. She made them manageable for him without diminishing the occasion. It was one of many qualities he loved in her.

At two thirty he offered to take her home- aware of her responsibilities to Gracie and to her work. He told her how much contentment it gave him to know they could support each other’s individual lives without undervaluing the experiences they would share. 

 She was standing beside his walnut desk, waiting while he put on his jacket and found his discarded keys. He reached across her, brushing against her for the sheer joy of it, delighted that he could openly touch her now.  He opened the top drawer. “One more thing before you go.” He took out a small oblong box and gave it to her. “I was going to give this to you at the opening but I think, under the circumstances, I would prefer you to open it now.”

She looked from him to the box and back again. She thought: it has been an exquisite day. I am completely overcome by him. Aloud she said "If I start bawling now I shall never forgive myself.  I can’t see properly when I do.”

He nodded, his lips curved upwards slightly. “Just open it.”

It was an antique micro-mosaic pendant on a gold spindle-link chain. The graded oval panel depicted Cupid being crowned by a wreath, watched by Venus. It was set in black glass on a gold wire-work mount. Philip took it from her and went behind her to arrange and fasten the clasp. He thought the carriage clock on the desk was unnecessarily loud beside him.

“Not with this outfit,” he advised. “Perhaps with a vintage black dress and a comb in your hair.” He turned her to face him and lifted her chin with his finger. “You are not saying much.”

“No”, she whispered. “I am listening.”

AFTERWORD

 The Opening was packed so it was not until the crowd cleared, late in the evening, that Bill had a chance to speak to Rhona alone.

“Well you have come a long way. Congratulations. I’m sorry about the other day I…” Philip had come up beside her, with a light touch at the back of her waist. Bill continued. “Phil I’m glad you materialised because this concerns you too. I wanted to say I know I messed up the other day and I want to put that behind us. I brought this for you. I’ll give it to Rhona, but it’s for both of you. Something to mark your new- ah- new partnership.” Rhona took the box and reached up to his shoulder. Bill bent down to hug her tightly.

It was one of his magnificent carved kauri balls. This was bigger than the other one that Philip had seen, being about the size of a cricket ball. It too was carved with interlacing forms, but this time they were human figures, sinuous like seals, male and female.

 In the places where the wood was pierced, interlinking snakes appeared below and between the figures. Rhona looked up from it to see the two men embracing as long separated brothers do when reunited.

Aunt Grace came forward, on Charlie’s arm.  Rhona passed the ball to her without speaking. Graced nodded as she examined it. “Yes. His finest yet I think. He is drawing from the life at last – you all are.”

Sprouting new Initiatives

It is New Moon - the sprouting time of the Lunar cycle, when new themes make themselves evident. 
This particular moon cycle is one of profound importance, with powerful astrological alignments occurring. The equinox, and festival of Mabon, comes around the time of the First Quarter. Dynamic joint activity of Venus and Mars, Uranus and Pluto characterise this cycle too.

What does it all mean?
The focus is clearly on taking action now. Leadership and courage are called for as all the celestial activity indicates this is the time to break new ground. If you have areas of your life you are keen to change, these next few weeks are the time to get under way. All of life is supporting the impulse to shift and to grow. 
There is potential here for real progress in both our inner and outer life. We are encouraged to release any stale restricting patterns now. Anything that remains to crowd or smother the delicate seedling of inner growth is best let go of.
Support is here for creativity too. Look for fresh new solutions to issues confronting you now. Lead into change from a steady centred awareness and watch for the flow and clarity guiding us all to a greater capacity to express our own authentic note.

As Kahil Gibran wrote:

“It was but yesterday I thought myself a fragment quivering without rhythm in the sphere of life. Now I know that I am the sphere, and all life in rhythmic fragments moves within me.”

Drawing from Life Chapter 19 continues:

Bill had arranged to meet Philip at lunch time. He had brought some of his carving with him, hoping to get a professional opinion on his work. The walk up to the gallery put him in a better frame of mind. At least he could count on his best mate to be an antidote after this morning’s interview.

It was a bit of a disappointment to find Philip was more distracted by business than usual. Bill sat and had lunch with him out the back of the gallery but the phone was going constantly. There seemed to be a lot of clients in and out as well. Philip was looking pretty pushed so he made an effort to take his mind off things by telling him a few of the amusing stories he had heard from Casey. 

Bill also gave an account of himself trying to teach youths how to swing a badminton racket without damaging themselves or anyone nearby- like the coach for instance. Philip smiled at that story. “It could be worse. Imagine coaching beginners’ golf.”

“No mate – well maybe the ladies class…” Bill noticed there was no answering laugh to that one.

Phil was obviously tired. He sounded a touch bitter when he said “Just to digress from your women for a moment, show me those bits of timber you brought over will you.”

 Bill could see it wasn’t a good time. He suggested they leave it for another day.  “You’re obviously pretty pushed …” Philip just smiled and put his hand out, until Bill reached in his satchel and pulled out a box wrapped in tissue.

 He watched Philip open it carefully, noticing the way he unconsciously switched to his assessing, professional face. “Nice. Small – what is it, a large netsuke size?” It was a sphere of kauri pierced in places, carved in an interlocking design of seaweed and exquisitely modelled. “It’s good Billy. I didn’t know you did this scale of carving.” He replaced it in the box carefully. “Not my line though. The chap you should see is at Devonport. Claus Petersen – runs that gallery by the Masonic.”

Philip was leaning his elbow on the counter, rubbing his temples with his hand. Bill couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him so stressed out. He was about to comment but Philip said “Your work is more in the art collectibles market I think. Show it to Rhona for a second opinion. That’s her field more than mine.”

Bill tried to explain he couldn’t show it to her but Philip ignored that. “You will have to talk to her sometime. She will be involved in sourcing for both galleries.”

It was unbelievable. Philip was holding something back he could tell. He asked him which galleries he was talking about.

Philip had his arms folded. He looked exhausted now. “The existing one at Devonport and the new one we are negotiating for. She is my business partner.”

Bill shook his head at him just standing there. “Well, stripping off must pay really well for her to be up in your financial league mate. I wish you joy of your tainted goods.”

Philip leaned over the table planting both hands in front of him. “You will retract that. It is not only untrue. It is vicious slander.” He stalked away to the street door.

 Bill stood and collected his satchel. “OK I apologise. I can see there’s more to all this than I thought.” It was time to go, before it got any worse.

Philip stayed only long enough to fix his Closed sign in place and tape his business card underneath.  As he walked to his car he rang Rhona to cancel his visit planned for that evening. They had arranged he would make his selection of her work tonight. He kept it brief, explaining that a matter had come up requiring his urgent attention, which was true. He drove to Upper Queen Street.

As he walked in to the gallery there he noticed an image from the fashion shoot. It was standing just inside the door- one he hadn’t seen before. 

When a young guy in tatty jeans appeared Philip handed over his card and asked for Al. He only had to wait a moment before a more assured youngster in more expensive, but equally tatty, gear appeared, frowning at the business card. Philip told him he knew Justin and Rhona and had come to see the work for himself.

Al was still looking uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not so big a deal. I just wanted…”

He tailed off when Philip pointed to the photo of Rhona. “This is a bold reference.”

“Manet? Well it seemed appropriate.”

Philip gestured to the stools at the back of the room and asked if they could sit down. “I want you to tell me about it.”

Al shrugged. “Sure. I guess they won’t mind.”

Philip had no time for generalities. “Tell me about that day. I’m interested in where your idea came from.”

Al explained the background to that afternoon shoot at Hauru Falls. For some reason he found himself describing Mickey – he mentioned no names. He even told the man about the assault – it seemed relevant somehow.  “That’s what I was trying to capture, that look on her face when she said something about broken glass. It reminded me of Folie Begere. It was the same pretty woman with the old eyes.”

There was a silence broken by Philip scraping his stool on the concrete floor as he stood up. He made no comment, just asked to see more of the work. They talked for a while about some of the other assignments Al had worked on.

Once he realised that this big cheese of the Auckland art world was genuinely interested in his work Al opened up enough to talk about how his sessions with Rhona had informed the work he had done since. Saying “Hold on- I want to show you something else,” he went away and came back in a minute or two holding a sheaf of black and white images in his hand. Leafing through them he explained they were from the first day of Justin’s shoot. “Rhona was ready but she hadn’t been called. I was just mucking around trying out some different things while I waited. Have a look at this one.” He passed over a photo of her standing wrapped in a light robe that was blown against her figure by the breeze. She was looking past the camera, out to sea. The horizon was well down the frame. “It’s kind of like the bar scene isn’t it? She is honestly the best subject I have ever worked with.”

Philip went back to the stool and sat down, holding the image on his knee. Al thought the guy had gone a bit pale and he asked him if he could get him a drink or something. He didn’t want that, but he asked if they could sit a minute. He had something to say. Al realised it was serious too because he checked the place was empty and kept his voice down went he started to speak.

“There’s a real maturity in your work. You seem to approach your art with some sensitivity so I hope you won’t feel patronised if I give you a bit of advice.”

It was kind of weird, the way he was talking, but Al gestured for him to go ahead. He wasn’t stupid enough to turn down a tip from a guy at the top of his field.

Philip had the photo upside down, flicking it lightly with his fingers and watching it while he talked. “Very rarely you will meet a woman who operates unconsciously from some depth we can’t really understand. A man coming into her range of influence will find himself producing his finest work – exquisite art, a scientific breakthrough- whatever.” He paused to check the younger man was following. “At the same time she unknowingly calls up his greatest fears, she seems to demand an even greater potential from him.’ He glanced across at Al and made a slight shrug. “This won’t mean much to you now I don’t suppose. The point is that an artistic man, unaware of who and what she is- well, he can get drawn in. Or worse, he will turn against her.”

Al heard what the man was saying, even with all the prosy talk. It was a specific warning as well as a philosophy lesson. He noticed the photo had been turned over again while they were talking. Al pointed to it. “When that one came out of the developer it was quite late at night and I thought: That’s like the story my Gran’ used to tell us kids- about the seal woman. A man stole her skin so she couldn’t go back to her seal husband. I didn’t notice at the time I took it- the far away eyes…”

Philip nodded. “Yes, a selkie. Exactly.”

Al gave him the photo later, saying it was fair exchange for Philip being so generous with his time and advice. At the door he said “You were right to tell me Mr Kerby. I had been thinking about her a bit – you know- why she was a great subject. I appreciate it.”

Rhona stayed at her work until nearly ten that night, at which point she realised that nothing would be added, and much destroyed, if she didn’t stop. Gracie was already asleep and the house was quiet as she cleaned up. She was aware of a sense of unease about Philip. There was something not right about his voice on the phone earlier. Marcus Bearing had emailed to let her know the gallery purchase and the partnership agreement were already underway. The fact that Philip had moved so quickly on the business seemed to indicate he was comfortable taking those steps. It was some other difficulty obviously. As she went to bed she wondered if he had heard about her altercation with Bill. It was possible but unlikely to cause him any distress, unless he felt it forced his hand. She tossed most of the night.

Next morning Gracie commented that her mother looked exhausted. She suggested a walk on the waterfront with a cafe brunch at the end. Rhona was resting her elbows on the dining table with a resigned look on her face. She agreed a change of scene would be welcome but she wanted to stay home in case Philip came. Gracie thought that was a lousy plan and told her it was time to stop pushing so hard “If he rings Anna can let him in to see your stuff. Besides it’s easier for him if you’re not here when he picks through your work.”

“True”, Rhona knew when she was beaten. She went to let Anna know the change of plan.

Philip did ring and Anna picked up the phone when she heard his voice on the answering machine. She assured him Rhona was fine, just washed out, but they had gone out until after lunch. He sounded relieved when she told him that, and told her he be around straight away. When Anna let him in, a little while later, she noticed how drawn he was looking, as if he was in some pain. She asked him if he was well, but only received a polite reply, so she didn’t press the point. Instead she said “You know the way. Just pull the door shut when you leave. I will be downstairs if you need anything.” He just nodded and went on up to Rhona’s apartment. Anna would have thought it rude in anyone else, but Philip was never impolite as a rule. He was clearly overworking.

As he mounted the stairs, Philip noticed how the silence intensified as he went up to Rhona’s apartment. He knew where to find her work room but he paused as he passed the living areas. A clear cut-glass vase was standing on the table. The full blown tulips it held had shed three petals which flashed scarlet against the plain white cloth. There was an old wicker basket full of apples on the kitchen counter. He stood a moment there. It was temporary accommodation but the rooms resonated with her presence to a degree that unsettled him.

Turning down the wide hall he walked quickly through Rhona’s bedroom to her work area. With his hand on the door he glanced back to the sleeping area behind him. She was very tidy but traces of her temperament littered the room. A homespun rug was thrown over the oak footboard so that muted earth tones of the fibers lay in sympathy with the heavy, ivory coloured bedspread. There was an oak cupboard beside the bed, doing duty as a bedside table. He hesitated a moment, then walked to it, reaching for the book that sat beside her lamp. It was a volume of Jung’s essays, a recent republication. He wondered at how far she was drawn into the subject of her paintings. Glancing down he noticed an A4 sketch book lying on the floor, as if it had been laid there just before she left the room. She had been using a fine nib marker. A botanically accurate strand of neptune’s necklace seaweed encircled the page on which she had drawn a foaming sea rolling onto sand. From the foam there reared the head of a horse, full of exertion and forward movement. Philip thought of Al then and shivered.

Philip shut the work room door behind him and stood leaning on it, both hands behind his back and his weight on his shoulders. The quiet was becoming eerie now and he felt so chilled he wondered if he was completely fit. The canvass on the easel in front of him was not quite dry in places. The background was a wash of various hues, with the clarity of stained glass. Starting with a blood red area in the centre, colour passed through the spectrum, pulsing out to the palest violet-white at the outer edges. An hermaphrodite figure was suggested, suspended in this colour, encircled by an ouroboros which, in contrast, was depicted with astonishing realism. The black, jade green and metallic gold of its shimmering scales seemed in motion. They glinted in the light as the self consuming snake moved sinuously, appearing to advance toward the viewer. The reptile’s black eye was disturbing.

Philip stepped behind the easel to open the cupboard. His face and hands felt clammy with perspiration as he lifted out several other canvasses. Even Rhona’s dark images used rich colours. Scarlet, purple and gold were prevalent. At times she laid paint so thickly, later scouring or gouging it to achieve her affects. Looking at a sword in one image he decided it was her bare nails she had used to mark the blade. Other work was lighter in tone. There was balance at least, he decided as he chose half a dozen for the opening.

As he started to stack the remaining work away, a brown cardboard envelope fell from the shelf above him and landed beside his right foot with the unmistakable crack of broken glass. He lifted the package carefully, not wanting to spill any shards from the wrapper, and placed it on the chair in the corner.  Guessing it contained a framed picture he decided he would take it and have it repaired for her, though it puzzled him why it should have toppled down so easily.

Once everything was tidied away he turned again to the parcel on the chair. Holding it horizontal he gingerly opened the top end and drew out an oak frame, a little smaller than A4 paper. The glass was broken, but in to no more than three pieces which had all remained within the frame. The image underneath was not pierced or damaged in any way. Light headed and uncertain of his balance, he sat on the chair a moment to right himself. He was still cold, although his shirt felt clammy on his back.

The oil painting was of a girl lying uncovered on her side, in a bed disordered by recent activity. A man’s back and legs could be discerned in the shadows behind her. She was curled up, with her upper most hand tucked under her chin, as a child would sleep. Her lower, languid arm extended over the edge of bed and between her dangling fingers was a partly blown dandelion clock on which a white cabbage butterfly had settled. She gazed at the viewer with inward looking eyes.

Philip had no affinity with the genre but as he professionally assessed the evident quality of execution, size and subject matter, he realised it was a successful picture.

Unprofessionally, it distressed him to consider how he could take it away and reframe

it for Rhona without discussing it with her. He profoundly wished he had let it alone and now he struggled to return the wretched thing to the envelope. He saw it was catching on a piece of card at the bottom which he had to pull out. Extended open as it was he could hardly fail to read the message from Eric Bates. Philip whistled silently. That relationship was clearly more significant than he had imagined. It came to him clearly that if Rhona were here she would say Eric had wanted him to find the picture. Was it a request, or pledge perhaps, one man to another? He rubbed at the throbbing in his temples as he stood up. Tucking the casualty under his arm, Philip left the house quickly, closing the front door quietly behind him.

He went straight home. Deliberately leaving the picture in the boot of his car he went to lie down in his room, stopping only to remove his shoes.

Several times in the next thirty-six hours Philip heard ringing sounds. He identified his mobile phone a couple of times. Once he heard the answer phone click to record a message. Drifting in and out of sleep, thrashing about, he was unable to respond even if he had found the desire to answer a call. He woke when it was dark, thinking it was Saturday evening. After a shower he saw by his watch it was in fact Sunday.

Take Heart

Fragmentation. Not a pretty word under any conditions. A particularly scary word in reference to one's outer life. 

I was approached today by a young woman teetering at the edge of this dramatic growth process. 

While I invoked assistance for her growth and healing I listened to her express her understandable distress at what she called "a melt down".

There are times when the soul precipitates a process of destroying the unhealthy and rigid patterns of life in order to clear the ground for new healthier forms.

Clear signals advise us to stop, to be still - to desist. It is then unwise to ignore the prompting.

So easily said, yet such a difficult thing to do when the seeming solidity of financial and relationship pressure appear to conspire to keep us on the treadmill.

Yet it is vital for our progress that we do stop. Only then can we build the basis of trust on which the new life will be built. This trust springs from the point of realisation which arrives in the stillness. There we sense and know that life is constantly supporting our endeavour to be authentic - true to our essence.

"Take Heart" the old wisdom says. 

Surrender and Let Life Lead you on.

In trust allow those disconnected pieces of the known and unknown reassemble into a fresh, functional and pleasing new design.

Drawing from Life continues with Chapter 19

Philip spoke to Rhona a week later, after an art auction in Epsom. He mentioned Claus Petersen was thinking of retiring, or realising some capital at the very least. She heard his carefully non-committal voice, knowing he was suggesting the Devonport gallery was worth buying. 

"What makes you think I have the wherewithal to be interested in this information?"

His light laugh was there before the response: “I knew you would demand I show my hand. Your esteemed Aunt did happen to mention that you are a woman of substance these days.”

Rhona made an effort to sound severe. “You unscrupulous rogue and I thought you cared. I am interested as it happens- under certain conditions.”

As they walked out into the car park she stated her terms: firstly that Claus stayed on at least until March, preferably longer and, secondly, being able to lease the adjacent premises for a café. I could reopen the currently sealed connecting door between the two."

Philip stood beside her car and began a short exchange of sniper fire. "Did you know there were tea rooms there in the past?"

“Yes I did as it happens. What do you think?”

“I think it’s possible. Do you want to see the figures?”

“Absolutely- just not at the moment. What are your charges?”

“Reasonable. Do you wish me to proceed as your agent?”

He was loving this. It was as close to flirting as they had ever got. Yet both were perfectly serious about the business.

Rhona wanted to know if he could see it as a satellite of his own gallery but with less fine art and more collectables, prints, glass and that sort of thing.

“I had considered that possibility. You were thinking of Anna for the café I suppose?”

“If she wants it. If you speak to Claus and can see it would complement your own gallery, then by all means talk on my behalf or yours- or both of us - whatever."

She had unlocked her car. Philip opened the door.  “I’m glad I ran into you. I do like it when clients are definite and refrain from dithering.”

She sniffed thinking: I’m not your client yet buddy, besides you’re not being entirely honest with me. A business partnership. That’s where you are heading. If not this gallery, then something else. My answer is still the same. 

She changed the subject, describing how the young photographer Al had been in touch with her. He was looking for advice on his exhibition at a place in Upper Queen St. She was enthusiastic about the opportunity to support a young talent. Philip’s response was luke-warm. “Your idealism is heart warming I must say.”

She engaged her seat belt noting the cynical voice of experience. “Not to worry, you know I will be advised by you- in these things at least.”

Philip laughed at the coy look she threw up at him as she drove away, but he was thinking how little he envied any of her advisors.

Rhona made it to Thursday of that week only slightly behind her project target. She told Aunt Grace she felt more like a machine than an artist, but received no sympathy. Rhona was amused to hear her advocate a protestant work ethic as the ground for creative expression.

By Friday morning, however, she was in overload. Philip was coming that evening to make his final selection. One canvass remained unfinished. She got up and organised to work, but after walking into her studio she went straight out again.

Gracie was awake and planning to be out for the day so Rhona decided she would go to see Al’s exhibition and come back to work in the afternoon. While she was changing there was a phone call. Bill Egan, of all people, wanted to see her today- off the 10.30 ferry. His voice was just the same. It had the same affect on her it always did and she had a good hunch what was on his agenda. It had to be faced, for Philip if not for herself. They agreed to meet at the Customs Coffee House at eleven.

Bill stood on the corner of Queen and Customs St. He saw Rhona come out of the train station and walk up to the lights at the intersection.  In an unhurried way she buttoned and belted her coat against the wind as she walked. As she came over the crossing he reached out to her and she, misinterpreting his movement, came forward to shake his hand as if it was a business meeting. At the coffee shop she introduced him to her friend, the manager. Bill caught a look pass between the two women that was obviously a code encrypted message. They were shown to a table out in the arcade.

Rhona kept the conversation general. He noticed she avoided answering his questions about herself or her circumstances. There were lots of subtle changes in her. For one thing she seemed pretty well off now, going by her appearance anyway. He watched the inside of her wrist being caressed by a wide Victorian chased silver bracelet. Focused on the place where a blue vein crossed the tendon, he realised with a shock that she didn’t cover her scars any more.

He decided to try a different tack. “Grace told me you had moved. She gave me your new number. I hope you didn’t mind.” He smiled, looking for the answering light in her eyes, but it didn’t come. She did tell him she was sharing a house until the end of the year. He already knew that. Grace had told him. It was hard work this small talk but he asked where she would go after that.

She shrugged. She hadn’t decided.

“You could live with me.” He saw immediately he had timed it badly. She was still looking at him but her eyes were clouded in a way he had never seen before.  Her voice was flat when she said “You will have to excuse me. I have another appointment shortly at the other end of Queen St.”

Bill offered to walk with her as far as Smith and Caughey’s. He joked about symptoms of retail withdrawal and she seemed to go back to being relaxed with him until he said “I always loved walking with you.”

She stopped in the middle of the footpath, stepping back from him. “Bill stop.” Her voice sounded so tired. “It was in the past. This is now and it is different. I won’t go back there.”

He was quietly insisted that he wanted to give it another try.

She spread her arms wide and dropped them to her sides, narrowly missing an elderly man passing beside her. “Look. You don’t even know me. I’m just a screen you’re projecting on to. I could be anyone. It would be hopeless – worse than hopeless.”

They stood at the crossing. When the buzzer went he commented in a joking way. “Old Grace said you would say no and I didn’t believe her.”

Rhona walked faster across the diagonal thinking how unbelievable he was.  Even after that ghastly business the other weekend he was still discussing her with Grace. He obviously couldn’t see what there was to get so het up about. It wouldn’t surprise her if he thought it was a compliment- that he was prepared to take her back.

Outside the Smith and Caughey’s menswear entrance she slowed down. “Take care. I guess I’ll see you at Grace’s opening.”

Bill walked on a couple of paces beside her, glancing at the window. Suddenly his arm snapped out and he held her back. “Hold on just a minute.” He was staring at the window display. The main backdrop was a huge panoramic photo in a landscape format. It was made to fit the whole height and width of the space. 

The picture was taken on the beach at Russell. There was a dinghy beached on the shingle. Beside it was a tattooed man, about forty, in a dinner suit. In his arms he held a woman as if he had just swept her from the boat. She was wearing a deep purple velvet evening dress. An ornate jeweled collar emphasised the plunging scalloped neckline. Her tousled curly red hair was caught up in a velvet ribbon and flew out around her as she gazed adoringly into the eyes of her rescuer.

In front of this panorama stood a clear Perspex T-shaped form, on which the dress was displayed artistically. The full train of the gown spread a purple stain across the floor. Beside it was an ivory show card with the legend “Life Begins at 40” in large black letters. In smaller type was the statement “Le Domino Noir, the Ultimate Collection. Exclusive in New Zealand to Smith and Caughey.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before she tugged away, but he held her fast, saying over her head “It’s just like before isn’t it? You can’t fake the look that guy has on his face lady, even with the war paint on. Do you call that “drawing from the life” too?”

“Let me go Bill. It’s just advertising for a dress.”

“The hell it is. Well, now I know how you earn your money it all starts to make sense.” He released her arm. “See you Rhona. I’m glad you rediscovered you’re true career.” He spun around and went in to the shop, leaving her standing there.

She stormed up Queen St, arriving breathless and still livid. Al was waiting for her and saw immediately something was wrong. She made a face and said it was ironic that the first picture she should see as she came in was his Folie Bergere. Smiling she told the other young guy there how much she wished all men were as sensitive as Al. Both boys had a laugh with her about it before they moved on to talk about their work. She stayed about an hour to share ideas with them, before heading home to finish her own.