Read Online The Gallery by Barbara Steiner - Free Book Online Page A

opened the other door. It was the first time she’d opened that door. Something had kept her from doing so.
    A dark musty smell floated over her, around her. Cold, dry darkness, empty. Goose bumps raised on her arms. Icy air stabbed her stomach. Pain—his pain. Loneliness—his loneliness.
    She slammed the door, wanted to lock it, but there was no key in the small narrow slot under the cold brass knob.
    Please don’t be really gone, she thought. Promise me you’ll be back.
    She got no answer. She gathered her paints and last night’s painting. She left a final thought message. I’ll be back tonight. Please be here .
    She couldn’t imagine losing him.

eight
    L A D ONNA DASHED DOWN the hill, took the short cut to the high school, and was able to get back to school in time for art class. She took last night’s painting—had she only finished this last night? So much had happened it seemed weeks ago. She took the canvas board and placed it on her easel while people wandered into class and got settled. She stared at it, making sure she wanted Roddy to see it.
    Yes, she was still pleased. In this light, the lack of color was even more effective. Dark stood out from light in a perfect balance.
    She felt Roddy standing behind her before he spoke. “Did you paint this, LaDonna?” Roddy didn’t believe the painting was hers either. What should she tell him?
    â€œI—I—yes, late last night.” She had placed the paint on the canvas. Where the inspiration came from was still an unknown, and there was no way she could explain it to Mr. Rodriguez.
    â€œIt’s—it’s wonderful. It has such emotion, something your paintings have lacked. What inspired you?” Roddy reached out carefully and touched some of the lines, ran his finger across the horizon.
    â€œI’ve been looking at a lot of art work. I found a couple of paintings that I really liked, that touched me. I—I—imitated their style a little. Do you think that’s all right? To imitate someone’s style that you admire?”
    â€œOf course, LaDonna. Sometimes we call that echoing. Music composers do it all the time, echo a phrase from an early symphony or concerto. Painters have been doing the same thing for all of time. Experts have looked at paintings and wondered if an old master painted it—Rembrandt for instance, but they suspect it was the work of one of his students. Whose paintings were you studying?”
    â€œI’d rather not say.”
    Roddy didn’t press her. “Well, whoever it was, it was a fortunate happening. Something in his work touched you, enabled you to take that leap of painting with emotion yourself. Emotion was really what was lacking in your work, LaDonna. I’ve just now realized it. I think you’ve taught me something. I tell students to paint from their hearts, but I can’t show them how to do that.”
    â€œI have a confession to make, Roddy.”
    â€œI’ll never tell.” He turned and smiled at her and there was pride in that smile. LaDonna took it in. She realized she badly needed Roddy’s praise.
    â€œI cut classes this morning. People were pestering me about Johnny. Asking me questions since he wasn’t here to talk for himself. I couldn’t take it. I went—I went home and painted another picture. I’ll bring it in tomorrow.”
    â€œDid you paint it with the anger that made you leave school?” He guessed her emotion.
    â€œNo, I painted from Johnny’s pain. I talked to him this morning. Then I put myself inside of him when I worked.”
    â€œYou’ve made that leap, LaDonna. I think you’ve found that magic place, deep inside yourself. That place where art comes from. Wadsworth calls it ‘the inner vision.’ That place where all your senses are involved.”
    All LaDonna’s senses and emotions had been so involved this morning that she couldn’t