Aurélie

Chapter Eighteen

Seb had been working all day at the Paris Art School, mounting his latest series of paintings to the fixtures on the walls. His art was heavily inspired by the American artist, Pollock. He liked to make his paintings loud and bold, throwing acrylic paints at large canvases, swirling textures and building layers. It was all about the third dimension for Seb, he wanted his art to shout at the spectators, to pull them in and spit them out, dazzled by the colours and with mixed views over the message.

He liked being controversial and his art professor had taken him under his wing from early on in his course, recognising himself in Seb, his youthful energy, passion and drive. The exhibition was due to run for three weeks and it was the first time he was able to get the majority of his course work into the same room. Now that they were all stacked up along the wall he was starting to get the first tingle of nervous anticipation that most actors would recognise as stage fright.

What if nobody came? What if nobody liked it? What if his professor, Claude Mollat, suddenly realised he had made a huge mistake in investing so much time in Seb and decided that actually, he was no more artistically talented than a clumsy toddler, finger painting their way through kindergarten.

So much to worry about. Focus Seb. Use this nervous energy and get the work done. He was disappointed that his final painting still wasn't finished, he didn't feel confident enough to include it in this exhibition - it could wait for the next one. If there was a next one.

Focus Seb. Claude asked you out of all the class to feature in this exhibition even though you have another year before you finish the course. This is the chance you've been waiting for, don't blow it.

Seb had worked throughout the past semester to create artwork that reflected current conflictions in society. He wanted to evoke emotive responses from the people who came to look at his paintings and he hoped that even if they didn't see a clear message in each painting that they would at least feel moved by the colours and the movement he had used.

His studio apartment was nothing like his cousin has described her studio apartment in London. Clara had called him to say that her studio flat was so small she could just about fit a single bed and a small worktop for a microwave and sink. Luckily she had a shared bathroom but it didn't sound great.

Seb had really lucked out with his apartment. It was on the northern bend of the Seine, lying on the west bank. It was a converted warehouse space, with high ceilings and exposed wooden floors. A circular glass window let light in above his bed and exposed brick walls gave the loft space a distinctly industrial feel, something that Seb felt added a masculine edge to his living space.

He had a kitchen to the left of the front door and a sofa and two bean bags in a modest living area on the right. His bed lay off to the far right corner, opposite a smaller bathroom consisting of a shower, toilet and sink. Stairs spiralled up to a mezzanine level above his bed, and a space dedicated to his art work. A window dominated the far wall, flooding his studio space with natural light. Something that Seb was forever grateful for. Although he had reclaimed school lights for the rest of the apartment, he relied heavily on the daylight to be able to choose his colours without being spoilt by tainted light. He guessed anyone else would find that weird, one of the many reasons he was happy he lived alone.

The painting that had him stumped was a swathe of blues, greens and greys. The colours were right but for some reason Seb felt the art was not flowing through as it did in his previous work. He hadn't told Lena but since he started working on her house he had not been able to produce any new artwork. He thought he must just be tired, he had been putting in long hours and when he got up this morning he'd noticed darker circles under his eyes, tell-tale signs of his distracted mind, and the restless nights he had spent staring at the ceiling and thoughts whizzing around.

Seb finished up in the exhibition space, leaving six paintings in his professors office which he planned on putting up tomorrow morning. He wanted to head back to his apartment for shower before cycling over to Lena's house for dinner. He threw his keys into a bowl on his kitchen counter, dropped his rucksack on the floor and ran the shower. Steam trailing out into the hallway. He undressed and stepped under the blissful stream of water, letting the heavy hot water pressure massage his shoulders and neck. He lathered up his hair and rinsed, letting the stream of hot water pummel the knots in his neck and shoulders.

He stepped out onto the wet black slate bathroom tiles and wrapped a white bath towel around his hips. Seb picked out a black t-shirt and was annoyed to realise that his last remaining hole-free pair of jeans had a splash of white paint on them.

They'd have to do.

Getting paint out usually required white spirit and he had no intention of going over to Lena's smelling of paint stripper. He got dressed and towel dried his hair, getting the worse off and then letting it dry naturally. He sprayed on deodorant and splashed on a dab of cologne. Feeling human again after the earlier sweltering heat of the day. He checked his reflection in the mirror and grabbed his keys and bike helmet. He kept his road bike suspended on the wall next to his door. Lifting it off its bracket, he opened the front door and headed outside. The journey over to Lena's was quiet and peaceful, most of the tourists were settling down in restaurants for dinner, which was ideal as it meant they weren't clogging up the pavements or haphazardly stepping out into the road, constantly looking the wrong way as they did so.

He turned a sharp right and locked his bike to the railings opposite Lena's house. He crossed the road and rang the doorbell.

Aurélie ran down the stairs when she heard the bell ring. Had Blake forgotten something? It had been such a gorgeous afternoon. They'd just left Notre-Dame when Blake had taken her hand and he'd held it for the rest of the afternoon. It felt so right with him and her tummy was still jittering from the brief kiss he had given her as he said goodbye on the front step two hours ago.

She opened the door and saw Seb standing in a pair of jeans - complete with a splash of white paint- a black t-shirt and a cycling helmet. She grinned at him, nothing could get her down tonight. Not even an obnoxious French art student who quite clearly hadn't been bothered to wash since his art exhibition this afternoon. Laziness was so unattractive.

"Hey Seb, expecting a fight?"

"Sorry?"

"Your helmet? Have you come to tell me some bad news?" she smiled.
Seb quickly removed his helmet and stuck it under his arm. Smoothing his hair down with his other hand.

"Am I late for dinner? Setting up took a little longer than I'd hoped." He stepped into the hallway, passed Aurélie.

"Nope, Lena got stuck chatting to the lady next door, she really is an odd character. Anyways, Lena has just started cooking so we should be eating in forty five mins or so." She beat him to the bottom step and started to walk up the stairs.

They'd reached the second floor and Seb could smell the beginnings of something delicious.

"Hi Seb," Lena called from the kitchen. "Help yourself to wine on the dining table, Suzanne and Pierre from next door are here for dinner too, go on through." Seb followed Aurélie through to the front room and Aurélie made the introductions. Seb poured himself a large red wine and dumped his bicycle helmet on a chair in the corner. Finding a place to stand near the mantelpiece. With other people in the house he suddenly felt uncomfortable, he'd been so used to it being the three of them working together that now people from the outside had come in he felt surplus to requirements.

Lena walked in carrying a hot dish of Guinea fowl cooked with Riesling and chanterelles, the steam swirled above their heads and settled, making their mouths water. Seb hadn't eaten all day, only a coffee before he'd headed over to the art institute this morning. Aurélie was stood at the other end of the mantelpiece, sipping a glass of chardonnay. She caught his eye and laughed.