V for Vante | KTH

Chapter 1: The Art Fiasco

What do you fear the most?

To your left, the ticking of the clock deafens you pale.

To your right, sweat-decorated white walls. Ahead, embossed windows with specks of thunder and rain.

Rejection.

On the first day of your exhibition, three people come. One of which was a good friend, two great mentors from your school.

Now on the fourth day, still three visitors in total.

"Life sucks, Y/N." You murmur to yourself.

At this point, all the artwork you mothered to life seem to stare back at you in shame.

Am I not good enough? The feeling of discourage is so evident in you that you feel it in ripples. You know your confidence is wavering...

Suddenly, the clock next to you makes its hourly trip, and its bells chime. Outside, echoes of thunder rumbles once more.

With a deep breath, you tell yourself that it's not you. This does not define you as an artist. Maybe people are bothered by the rain and want to stay inside. Maybe it's just the wrong timing.

But up until today, Jersey had such beautiful, clear-cut skies.

In your head, you try to justify why people didn't show up. You followed the procedure so meticulously. You wanted people to come see your work, critique you, celebrate with you. You worked so hard on the invitations, social media. But, you are zapped of coming up with any reason why other than your own self.

You shut your eyes in disbelief and scrunch the fabric on your heart. Rejection sucks.

A whistle stops you at your tracks. It's the receptionist, a big burly guy with a too-apparent receding hairline and a thick jersey accent. He was all leather and nails at first but his soft eyes and caring words tell you that he's just a misunderstood marshmallow. A sweet, misunderstood marshmallow.

"Two more hours until we lock up," you hear him say as his head peeks in from the corner of the gallery. "Good work today, Y/N." He gives you a sorry look before glancing at his watch once more and pulling back away.

Tick tock...

The clock ticks on, and you sit on a lone chair. You rearrange the flowers on the vases on display. From time to time, you nudge the corners of your artwork, realigning them back into a perfect corner-to-corner ratio.

Tick tock...

You pace back and forth. In the distance, you hear Mr. Marshmallow's keyboard tapping away.

And there goes the annoying squeaking of your leather shoes...

Wait.

You look down at your square-toe heels. Your suede, square-toe heels. You're not wearing any leather shoes.

It's a visitor! You feel your whole body perk up at the sound of footsteps.

It's a tall, darkly dressed, drenched man. You notice his height and dangling earrings. He's shaking his teardrop embossed umbrella dry and patting the rain off of his ribbed beanie.

There's a slight pull to his dark eyes and you're aching to see more - but it's a bummer that you can't see his whole face because...he's wearing a mask! That's not something you see often here.