Chapter 2

2

ELLIE

E llie Matthews is harshly stirred out of her blissful sleep, woken up by the noise of her alarm clock. Cozy and buried in her bedsheets, she watches as the clock vibrates on its shelf, heading inevitably towards its own undoing. She has no strength to leave the bed, softly ensconced in her baby blue sheets, warm and untouchable, allowing the small disaster to unfold.

The alarm clock falls to the floor with a crash, putting an end to its annoying ring.

Pathetic, it lays on its face. Touched by pity towards the little thing, Ellie finally drags herself out of the bed. The cold, laminated floor stings her feet, and the room's air seems very unwelcoming. She picks up the cheap clock, the glass cracked from its fall. Now a sense of guilt climbs up her stomach. She decides to treat it as hunger and remedy it by having a fresh breakfast.

Ever since moving to the city, Ellie has been utterly in love with the neighborhood's bustling morning market, held every Saturday and Sunday in an old hangar only a few streets away from her apartment. Picking out her dress, she can already smell the mountains of produce colorfully stacked inside the old hangar, spices and teas swirling in the air, and fresh-caught fish slid into shopping bags. Keys in her hand, she's on the way.

–

Strolling around the alleys, Ellie finds herself discreetly people-watching. It always happens to her unintentionally, the short glances gradually lingering longer, turning sticky. Her eyes stick to people from afar, families shopping for the day and relaxing to the beat of a Saturday morning; daughters push little wired shopping carts, sons run around their mothers' legs, couples embrace each other tenderly.

The tendency to linger and observe has always been present in Ellie's life. Even as a child, she would often look from a distance—watch, as life displayed its beauty in front of her. No wonder she has always felt drawn to conveying what she saw. Through painting, she could show the beauty back to the world.

An appealing stand with bright red strawberries calls out to her impatiently. As she bends low to smell them, their sweet scent fills her nostrils with a promise of an even sweeter taste. Looking for her wallet, she decides on a fruit breakfast. Baskets of berries and oranges seem irresistible, a small invitation for spring to finally unleash itself. Packing everything into her wicker basket, she whistles a joyful tune.

–

Unpacking the fragrant fruits on her counter, she sets a pot of oatmeal to cook. Ellie commits to preparing her meals with undivided attention, savoring the moment of cooking with joy. In her view, artists especially have the responsibility of experiencing the world richly and attentively, developing a much-needed sensitivity of all the senses. She watches as the steam rises from the pot while cutting apples and peeling oranges. Her cupboard is sure to always be filled with various high-quality spices; a practice she owes to her father. His absolute mastery of the kitchen filled her childhood with joyful hours of cooking together, preparing meals with love and attention. He made sure his daughters would appreciate the flavorful cuisine of his grandfathers, carrying on the numerous recipes and traditions.

Reminiscing, she adds spices to the pot. Nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and honey make her oatmeal divine.

Sitting down to eat, she receives an avalanche of messages from her friend, Frank, apparently very excited: Have you seen her yet??

Ellie opens the attachments, quickly learning of an artist making waves in the city, a modern landscape painter, Tatiana Khan. The surname rings some bells, but Ellie is unsure whether it's not a coincidence; she doesn't seem to be familiar with the work. That marks a surprising discovery, seeing the subject matter is so close to her own paintings—or at least, the subject matter used to subvert what Ellie paints.

Khan's paintings occupy the territory of experimental landscapes, the compositions often unexpectedly erupting with vibrant color unfounded within the context of the space. Looking through the painter's body of work, Ellie finds a painting particularly similar to one of her own, portraying a little hilltop with a swing, hung from a widely branching tree. She admires the skill of Khan's background hills, enveloped still by the morning mist. The sun is on its way to rise, timidly gleaming from amidst the still-dark trees. The swing seems recently abandoned, in the middle of its course. To portray its motion, Khan decided to abandon the painting's classical form and dash thick white paint atop it, marking the swing's trajectory. This work angers Ellie, who can already imagine the shallow praise it probably received. Critics would gasp over the meaningful boldness of subverting such a beautiful form.

Ellie keeps looking, other paintings employ different tools but with the same bold disregard. She realizes the emotions conveyed through Khan's art relate deeply to the sentiments of her own work, often portraying abandoned spaces or landscapes including minuscule traces of humanity. Only Ellie's work employs subtlety and doesn't look to disregard the form where it is unnecessary. Looking to find Khan's age, her suspicions stand confirmed; Tatiana is ten years her junior.

How do you like it? She asks Frank. He is a painter of his own renown, and his reflections on art never fail to remain on point.

A creeping distaste haunts Ellie. She doesn't understand why Khan's paintings would garner such recognition when, clearly, they're only meant to be aggressively postmodern.

I think she manages the concept well, the paintings are touching. It's not my style, but she's clearly very skilled.

Frank's response doesn't settle any of Ellie's feelings. Having finished the bowl of oatmeal, she busies herself with doing the dishes until the phone's ringing interrupts her.

"Did you forget about our call?" the familiar, sunny voice flows through the speaker.

"Hi Mom, I completely forgot today's Saturday," Ellie explains, happy to hear her mother.

"How are you doing, dear? Everything going well with the exhibition?"

"Yes, I'm opening a new one soon," her voice beams with pride. "I have a question?—"

Ellie stirs a bit. Her mother's opinions on art still carry a lot of importance for her.

"Do you recognize this new painter, Tatiana Khan?" Ellie pauses. "She seems to be gaining a lot of recognition here recently, and she also does landscapes."

"Tatiana Khan… No, not really. But you know, I'm not as up to date as I used to be, these days." She pauses to think some more. "Is she related to Dominik Khan, by any chance?"

"I don't know. Who's that?"

"Oh, a very successful sculptor of my generation. Our paths never crossed, but I heard a great deal about him."

And so their weekly conversation would run its course, little waves of insignificant details from their daily lives, opinions on recently read books, art exhibitions, news about friends.

"I'm thinking of creating something new, I have these images following me around recently. I think it could be beautiful," admits Ellie.

"Don't tell me anything!" laughs her mother. "It brings bad luck to talk about unmade art. Go and paint," she advises. "Go and paint it."

"Well, now I just might." Ellie shakes her head to herself, always entertained by her mom's superstitions. "Say hi to Dad for me, will you?"

"Sure. He'll be visiting soon."

After hanging up, a sense of familiar gloom overcomes Ellie. The warmth of her mother's voice seemed more tinted with pain than the last time they talked, words took on different shapes in her mouth than usual. The conversations keep getting harder for her, a pulsing reminder of her absence from her family's life and struggles. Though the doctors keep reassuring the family of high chances for recovery, Ellie still feels discomfort being so far away from them during the difficult time. The only way for her to justify not taking care of her mother in person is to make her art career worth every minute away from her hometown.

With thoughts of recent successes swimming around her mind, Ellie takes her mother's advice and decides to get working on her recent vision.

Driving to the newly rented studio, she focuses on the images she has been stumbling into. Images of cascading water, bathed by the dusking sun. She wonders whether it somehow corresponds to the fear for her mother, subconsciously gushing out into her art. She shakes her head to drive the thought away.

Ellie's mother holds a strong conviction that one should never analyze one's own art, only leave it to the audience and the critics. Whenever Ellie would begin guessing what the elements of her paintings could mean, her mother would interrupt, believing that creation and analysis do not belong to the same process. The artist's task is to create raw and honest art. The water would cascade.

Ellie parks and gets out the keys to her studio. She still is barely able to believe the success her art has recently achieved, affording her a spacious apartment together with a spacious studio, something she has been dreaming about since leaving art school. The key shines in her hand, as she climbs the stairs.

Once the door stands open, she inhales the strong smell of acrylic paint and feels at home. The bright space embraces her with light, and she gets her materials ready to sketch. While working, she notices that the mood of the painting will vary drastically from her usual, more melancholy, state. The waterfall seems to require grandeur, and together with the dying sun, the painting seems to rage. She sees the water below rippling, struck by the continuous flow from above, heavy and unforgiving. Hills stand bare, birthing this falling water, shining with the red reflections of dusk. The sketch has no color, but she can see exactly where the red should lick the painting.

Taking a break, she stands up to look at the sketch from afar. The style of the piece resembles more the work she used to create a few years ago, making her question the inspiration, despite her mother's words. Her stomach rumbles, and she decides to take a break for lunch.

Hey Fred, are you in the city? She texts, changing from her work clothes back to her dress. Fred owns a studio a few streets away, so they often eat out together.

Getting a sandwich, wanna join?

Walking to the sandwich shop, Ellie can't let go of the surprising nature of her new project. Fred is known to shift his style aggressively and often, and she knows that he will be quick to belittle her confusion. The friends hug upon seeing each other.

"Ellie! How's it going?" Fred exclaims in between enormous bites of his salmon sandwich.

"I began working on something," Ellie begins, going over the menu trying to decide between vegetables and tuna, "and the project really surprises me."

Having chosen the eggplant grand sandwich, she sits down to join Fred at the table.

"Tell me more," he says.

"You know my recent pieces, I thought I finally found my style and a consistent voice," she explains, "but this… It's been haunting me for weeks, and once I finally begin sketching, it seems completely different from all my recent work. Very… aggressive."

Fred nods. He swallows the last bits of his lunch, and chooses his response carefully, knowing Ellie's approach to be very different from his own.

"Why don't you just flow with the piece, see where it takes you? You don't really need to sell anything at the moment, so feel free to experiment."

Ellie looks away.

"I think I'm trying to prove something," she admits. "With this new rival landscape artist."

Fred laughs, amused.

"Tatiana Khan? Oh please, there is enough room for the two of you. I got to know her recently, she's charming."

Tatiana is charming? huh.

Ellie doesn't want to talk about Tatiana Khan, but the thought of her remains stuck in Ellie's mind. She feels silly, being influenced by insecurity or some strange competitiveness. She knows Fred is right, and there is more than enough space in the city for two landscape painters but feeling that Khan's art represents something she disagrees with, Ellie feels the need to prove her own style's right to be. They talk of the upcoming exhibitions and their shared friend's new book, before Tatiana Bloody Khan is brought up again.

"By the way," says Fred, slowly gathering his things up to go. "I'm hosting a dinner party next weekend, and Tatiana is going to be there. Would you like to come?"

"Well… Sure," she says, before giving it much thought.

Ellie rarely rejects invitations.

Having parted with Fred, however, she begins to really imagine how the party could go. Insecurity often gets the better of her, even though usually she's a sweet and encouraging person, especially with respect to fellow artists. Making her way back up to the studio, she decides to remain hopeful. Perhaps the encounter will somewhat tame her ill thoughts about Khan's art, and they will emerge out of it as friends.

Returning to her sketch, she resolves to wait and see where the art takes her.

What will this Tatiana Khan be like?