to bother doing it right, then I should find something else to do and do that right.”
Aaron’s jaw fell open.
“What?” Will scoffed. “Okay, with all due respect to the deceased? Fuck your dad and his opinions.”
I stiffened. “What?”
Shaking his head, he huffed out a frustrated breath. “Listen, when you look at your own work, you probably just see all the mistakes you made and all the things you wish you could do better.” He gestured at the paintings. “I see the product of a lot of hard work and attention to detail, and the results of someone who has obviously committed to really learning and applying the fundamentals.” Looking right in my eyes, he said, “The fact that you’ve come this far without any outside feedback on where and how to improve, and the fact that you stuck with it when the only outside feedback you got was to give up? Man, that’s impressive.”
“It… It is?”
“Yes.” He laughed softly, wrapped his arm around my shoulders again, and reeled me in close. “Your dad was full of shit, and he taught you to see where you made mistakes rather than where you excelled.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.
“When we first walked in here,” he went on, “you immediately pointed out the problems. A lot of my students do that—it’s a defense mechanism because they want to make sure it’s obvious they know where they make mistakes so they don’t feel stupid when I point them out. But you know what you didn’t point out?”
“Hmm?”
He pointed at the landscape. “How you used differences in value to make the mountains look farther away. How the angle and intensity of your light source is consistent throughout the entire painting, with perfectly angled and shaded shadows to make it all look realistic.” He moved his hand toward the upper branches of the evergreen in the foreground. “And how you managed to make a squirrel that small look that real.”
Holy shit, I really was getting choked up now. I’d always dreaded people seeing my work because they’d see every mistake I made. Now I’d accidentally shown a couple of paintings to a professional artist who taught other artists…and he’d noticed the squirrel.
Oblivious to me trying to pull myself together, Aaron leaned in closer to look at the painting. “Wow, that is realistic. I didn’t even see it until you pointed it out.”
“What inspired you to do this?” Will gestured at the running horses.
“I, um…” I swallowed, the lump still firmly in my throat. Shifting nervously, I crossed my arms and tried to keep my voice steady. “I was at an art museum a few years ago, and I noticed that when you look at art history, everyone’s painting horses. If their civilization had horses, they painted them. All the way back to…” I gestured at the cave painting style. “So I guess I wanted to paint, like, an evolution of…”
The painting stared back at me, every unblended brushstroke and not-as-sharp-as-it-should-be line jumping out like they were in bright red.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” Will asked.
I turned to him, eyes wide. “Huh?”
He gestured at it. “I think the professors who teach art history might find it useful as a visual.”
I blinked. He had to be yanking my chain. “You… Really?”
“Are you kidding?” He turned to the painting again. “You’ve got all these historic styles in a single image. What better way for a student comparing styles to really see them side by side?” Facing me, he added, “I’d like to use it too, if you don’t mind.”
My mouth had gone dry, and all I could do was nod.
Will stepped back, took out his phone, and snapped a few shots of the horse painting. Then he opened a text window, attached the photo, quickly thumbed in a message, and sent it. As he pocketed his phone, he smiled. “One of my colleagues is going to lose her mind over this.”
“Wow.” I was pretty much speechless. “I’ve, um… No one’s actually seen either of these before today.” I laughed, which was good, since apparently I hadn’t been breathing as much as I should have. “Kind of weird to have someone want to use them as visual aids now.” I paused. “Not as visual aids of what not to do, right?”
“Oh my God, no!” Will shook his head. “Definitely not. Trust me, if I’m going to use a visual aid of what not to do?” He tapped his chest. “I have plenty of my own