Repeat After Me

Chapter 22

I decided I wasn't going to talk to Asten anymore. It was too painful liking someone who was unattainable. No good could come out of it. Things were too messy and confusing already. I decided I'd rather have no love in my life than bad love.

But it was hard. He messaged every couple of days. Just seeing his name come up on my phone screen was sweet torture. The letters A-S-T-E-N would turn my heart inside out. I'd tell myself, 'whatever it is, don't respond.' And yet within a second, I was reading his message with high expectation and typing back, restrained, but enthusiastically.

To take my mind off Asten, I decided to take my chances and skip out to the demolition site. I convinced myself I wasn't painting on the streets, it was painting in a building for an exhibition. There was a difference.

When I got to the Footscray site, there were five or six people already there painting.

'Hey, Ivy isn't it?' It was ET or JD, I couldn't remember his name.

'Hi,' I said. 'Okay if I get started?'

'Sure. There's no rules around here.'

I made my way through to the bathroom. I was surprised to find Pigmentation painting in the room next door.

'Hi. You're painting right here?' I asked, a little star-struck.

'Yeah. I like it up the back here. Away from that other riff raff, hey?'

She was painting a small boy writing at a desk. 'Did you go to art school?' I asked.

'No, I studied law. I met a group of art students at university – ET who's out there, and a few others. They had a studio in Northcote. They were just getting into street art. I'd go with them sometimes and paint little abstract things in gutters. It was like a release from my corporate life – the opposite to getting dressed in a suit and sitting at a computer for ten hours a day reading legalese. Soon though, I found myself out painting the streets more than I was working in the office and something had to give. I gave up the job and sold my house for money to live off.'

'So you're completely untrained?'

'Pretty much. Except I liked art in high school. Are you going to try and get into art school?'

'Yeah, my art teacher thinks I should apply. But my parents don't get art at all. They're all into sport.'

'Well, you've got lots of time ahead of you and a natural talent. Don't waste it. There's a bit of a scene around here. Be careful about the choices you make and let art be your focus. I've seen a lot of good people lose their way lately.'

'I better get started,' I said. 'I haven't got long to paint. It's cool to be painting next to you.'

There was no roof. Pigmentation was playing Sigur Rós through wireless speakers. I could hear the rattle of her can as she shook it up, followed by the hiss of the spray as she pressed the release button. I fell into her rhythm as I painted the outline of my own artwork.

Guilt weighed so heavily on me I was practically holding my breath as I painted. I wished so badly that I was Pigmentation and that I was free to paint – that I was even applauded for what I did. But instead, I had to paint quickly, it felt haphazard and rushed, like the faster I painted, the less likely I'd disappoint my parents. There was no pleasure in painting, only guilt.

I popped my head in to say goodbye to Pigmentation.

'Going already?' she asked

'Yeah, I have to get back home.'

'You'll be back?'

'Yeah, I'll probably need to come back another two times to finish it.'

'I might see you. Otherwise, will you be at the opening?'

'I'm not sure yet. It might be hard to get out. My parents would freak if they knew I was doing this.'

'You have to come and celebrate with us all. I'll give you my number. I can pick you up.' She wrote her number down on the back of a 7-Eleven receipt and handed it to me.

'That's so nice of you. Thank you.'