A quote: “The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed.” ~~ Charlotte Bronte
I’ll start with a story …
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Katie’s producer Ted had insisted on meeting even as her filming schedule was fully booked.
Ted sighed, “You haven’t returned my calls about the delays. We cannot afford to breach our contract, Kate.”
“There’s some things I can’t control, Ted. With all the years I’ve flipped houses, I build in contingencies but this house …” she shook her head, “one weird thing after another. It’s spooked some of the subs and I’m scrambling for back-ups.”
Ted rolled his eyes, “Oh, save it for your audience. I have a hard time believing plumbers are spooked by a ‘haunted house’.”
Katie’s angle to separate herself from all the other flippers was to make-over purported “haunted houses”. To redeem them from their past. Even if she had to make up a past to keep the audience watching.
“This one is different. The crews are edgy. Tools are moved, we find supplies hidden throughout the site …”
“Like you haven’t done this schtick before? Ramp it up or the network will cancel us.”
She was still fuming when she got back to the house to find no one there. She walked from room to room in disbelief. Tools were scattered, even the cameras and light equipment still present … what the ever-loving f…?? She stomped to the second floor, grabbing a sledgehammer ready to take out her frustrations in the primary. Screw the crown molding, the vintage wallpaper, the tacky boudoir painting that stared down at her. Katie raised her hammer determined to have it down to studs by morning.
A city crew put up chain link around the house as Ted handed final paychecks to the subs who showed. He couldn’t reach Katie and, frankly, he hoped she’d never show her face again. Leaving him to clean this up?
He glanced up at the second-floor window, a bit freaked by a face like Kate’s but shook his head and it was gone. That’s what anger gets you … seeing things.
Katie was never going to work in this town again.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
Cameron says: Violet Morning was the name of the painting. She was absolutely beautiful and there was something about the painting when I first saw it that spoke to me. Her face was more curious than deliberately erotic and the skin being shown was more of a hint than anything.
My teacher hated it of course. “Western beauty” and “male gaze” were spat out before we moved onto the approved ugly paintings that defined the rest of the class. But I really wanted to know more.
During summer break, I followed leads and after three weeks I was at an old home that had probably last been updated during the Depression. The woman claimed that it was a family member who had done the painting. Despite me showing up unannounced, she sat me down with some tea and told me the actual history of the painting as well as several other pieces.
As my visit came to an end and I stood up, she said “Did you have any other questions?”
“Just one. How is it that you haven’t aged since that painting was made?”
She grinned at me. “Ah, now that’s another story. Come over tomorrow and I will tell you.”
Wombat Lace says: Nice, Cameron!
Commercial jobs weren’t Lacey’s favorite kind of painting, but at least they helped keep the lights on. This one had been a particularly difficult one, with an art director who just couldn’t seem to be pleased.
First try had been too young, the next not young enough. Too frightened or not frightened enough.
The latest complaint? He didn’t like the angle of her head. Which meant Lacey might as well start over altogether. Repainting the existing canvas would mean just as much work, and the risk of earlier efforts showing through in the scanning process.
She was definitely earning every penny of her commission on this one.
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