Hung (Under Revision)

1: First Encounter

Skye

"Don't give up," Ava said.

"It's not like I have a choice," I said, frowning as I examine the way I've captured the movement of water on my canvas.

"There's always a way. We'll find it, have faith."

"I've been here six months and have sold exactly one painting."

"And that one painting was great, just like all your others. It's just about being discovered. It will happen. You're too good for it not to," she said laying an arm around my shoulders.

"I'm too crap, and that's why it won't happen. If I were any good, it would've happened by now." I fling my brush onto my wooden tray and sigh. Being faced with rejection every day has destroyed any belief I had in my abilities.

"That's not true. If you weren't any good, I wouldn't let you live here rent-free. I'd go find an accountant who arranges all her rent payments upfront." 

The bohemian scarf Ava always wears wrapped around her head, bobs as she waggles her head.

"Thanks for reminding me what a freeloader I am."

It hadn't started that way. When I first moved to Santa Barbara I paid Ava rent, funded by an inheritance from my grandmother. But art supplies cost a fortune, and I was running through my inheritance so quickly that Ava decided not to accept any more rent from me, no matter how hard I tried to pay her.

"You aren't a freeloader. You're going to owe me the commission from your tenth and twenty-fifth paintings sold, remember?"

The corners of my mouth turn up and I can't help but laugh. "Two paintings aren't going to make up for all the rent I'm not paying you."

"Yes it will. It won't take as long as you think, not if you keep on painting like that." Ava nods her head to the bold colors and delicate swirls on my canvas. We both stare at it for a few minutes.

All I can feel is frustration at it. Frustration that no matter how much effort I put into it, no matter how much of my blood, sweat and tears, it's most likely going to end up gathering dust in the attic.

"I don't know how to thank you for all the support you give me. Both financial and emotional. I would've given up weeks ago if it wasn't for you."

She squeezes my shoulders, "Skye, listen to me. You are one of the most talented artists I've ever come across. You're a dream come true to me. Every art professor dreams of discovering a talent like you. It's an honor to have you in my home."

"I'm going to request extra shifts at the restaurant. I know they said they only need me on the busy Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening shifts, but I heard a rumor that one of the guys on the day shift has been slacking off and is going to get fired."

"Absolutely not. You cannot work during the day, you need to be here, capturing the natural light."

"But..."

"There is no but. Either you're serious about supporting yourself from your art or you're giving up. There's no in between."

I take my brushes to the utility sink in the adjacent room and begin cleaning them. Ava continues to stare at my work in progress.

She's very kind but I struggle to understand why. My own parents have disowned me for wasting the money my grandmother left me. They insist painting is a hobby and not a real job, and that I need to get myself a real job real fast.

Ava found my blog online and, according to her, knew in an instant I was set for big things. She even paid for my plane ticket from Michigan.

At first I'd assumed she was rich because she has a nice house with a view of the ocean in the distance. Then I found out she's given away most of her money to various charities for fighting poverty and realized she only kept the amount of money she felt she needed.