Without Words

9- Father's Daughter

"Eliza Forbes." The woman at the desk called to me. "You may go in now."

I nodded my thanks and opened the door to the office. Saying I'm nervous is an understatement, I am terrified. I've been planning on this for months, cashing in a lot of favors and arranging the perfect and impressive portfolio I could muster. Hopefully, even if my goals were slightly thwarted, the alternative would be better.

"Professor Sybil Hart. It's an honor to meet you." I was impressed by the confident tone of my voice. "I am so glad you took the time to meet me."

Shrewd black eyes regarded me curiously then opened the portfolio in front of her, glancing at the pages meticulously. "Caroline has been nagging me to take you in."

"I owe her a lot."

"So it seems." Her finger traced a particular page and for some reason, it made me nervous. "Your main style is impressionism but I see some works dabbling on expressionism as well."

"I experimented into it during these past few months, it provided the outlet I need after a stressful event that happened recently."

"Ah, yes. I heard about Charles." Her eyes turned to me and gave me a solemn nod. "My deepest condolences."

"I appreciate it."

She went back to my portfolio and started studying it intently. A pin could drop with the deafening silence in the room. I was certain she already perused my portfolio thousand times after I sent it. This is probably just to make me more nervous than I already am.

"My preference has always been in the impressionism arts."

"Mine as well."

"Your brush strokes need more work." She critiqued one of my paintings, looking at it under a lens on her desk. "Particularly on the bright colors, and have you heard of simultaneous contrast?"

"Yes." I nodded eagerly. I have been taking art classes back in London and has been training with few local artists too. "I've been trying to experiment on it but I couldn't help but mix the paint and well, I recognize my strokes do need practice and I'm working on it."

"Your depiction of light needs more work as well. How do you work on that?" She inquired as she took a notebook from her drawer and wrote on it.

"At first, I visually inspect the places I want to paint. And then it came easier when I decided to focus on portraying the passing of time by using the changing qualities of light." I explained enthusiastically. "I would go to a Richmond Park in London and take a picture of a specific place at different times of day. That helped me envision of what I like to work with."

"Who are the artists that inspire your styles and techniques?" She put my portfolio on the side and regarded me curiously. I moved my nervousness at the background and tried to answer the best I can.

"Claude Monet and his landscapes sold me to choose impressionism. His more fluid approach suits me and I love his interplay with light and colors, like he was capturing light itself in canvas. Then there's Berthe Morisot. I admire her luminous paintings and fluid brush works, it has that feathery touch to it that leaves an almost luminescent sheen." I narrated animatedly, forgetting my nerves altogether as my life passion engulfed me. It was nice discussing this part of my life with someone who shares the same passion as me. "I tried Camille Pissarro's technique once but the short, choppy and staccato daubs didn't enchant me the same way. Not that I don't appreciate-"I stopped and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I was babbling."

She shook her hand as her lips quirked up. "Katelyn is my niece. Trust me, I'm used to it. But I am curious, is Renoir included in your list?"

"I love his landscapes but he seems to give more weight to his human subjects more and I have trouble translating those subjects into canvas."