himself,” Taylor said. She slammed the ornament on the table. “And for your information, this isn’t about boys. This is about my work. There’s nothing there.” Taylor drew a breath. “On the forum, the man who’s devoted his life to Sally Love says that artists have to live large to paint. He says that even when she was fourteen, Sally knew that she had to experience life to be a great artist.”
“And this man equates experiencing life with having sex?”
“Sally did,” Taylor said coldly. “If you’d seen that self-portrait she did when she was my age, you’d understand.”
“I have seen it, Taylor. I saw it in the living room of the man who owned it.”
Taylor’s eyes were brimming. “Then you know how amazing it is.”
“I do,” I said. “I also know that by the time your mother was fourteen, she’d suffered more than any child should ever suffer.”
“Because her father died and her mother didn’t have a good relationship with her,” Taylor said. “But she had Izaak Levin. You told me that when there was no one else, he took care of Sally. He gave her the chance to travel and the freedom to paint what she saw.”
“That’s true,” I said. “But there was more. Taylor, Izaak used your mother. He used her beauty, and he used her talent.”
“Whatever he did, it worked.” Taylor’s voice quivered, but her message was unequivocal. “When she was my age, Sally was making great art, and that’s worth everything.”
I picked up the ornament Taylor had slammed on the table. It was impossible to take a bad picture of Taylor, and this one wasn’t unflattering, but it was revealing. In it, for the first time since she’d come to me, there was uncertainty in her eyes and her smile was guarded. I stared at the photograph for a second too long, and Taylor noticed. “Do you think I look geeky?”
“You don’t look geeky,” I said. “You look as if you have a lot on your mind, which, clearly, you do. Taylor, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to make the kind of art that you and Sally make, but I do know that the life experience you bring to your work doesn’t have to be harsh. Angela Cheng says that when she plays certain pieces, she thinks about the way the light shines on her child’s hair.”
“Angela Cheng is a pianist, not a painter.”
“But she’s found a way to live that feeds her art. If you’re lucky and if you make the right choices, that can happen to you.”
Taylor leapt out of her chair and bounded onto my knee. The leap was as unexpected as it was sweet. “Everything’s changing,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But you’re going to be fine. Taylor, you
are
fine.”
Taylor was as tall as I was. Sitting on my knee was no longer easy for her, but we held on, united by our awareness that while there were battles ahead, we had been granted a reprieve. As we watched the snow fall, it seemed we breathed in unison.
Zack’s inability to do any but the most rudimentary jigsaw puzzle was a running joke between him and ourgranddaughters. That afternoon when Mieka and the girls arrived to help get our family dinner ready, both girls had puzzles jammed in their backpacks. Taylor was at the choral concert; Mieka and I had cooking to do; so, by process of elimination, Zack was on puzzle duty.
After the girls threw off their coats and boots, they descended on him. “The one I brought is so easy,” Lena cooed. “It’s a caterpillar, and even the littlest kids in junior kindergarten are bored with it.” “Mine’s a piano,” Madeleine said. “The box says it’s for ages five to eight, but you
play
the piano, Granddad, and there’s a picture, so you should be able to do it. If you get stuck, I’ll help you.”
Zack wheeled his chair close to the table. “Thanks for the offer, Maddy,” he said. “But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. I’m going to tackle these puzzles all by myself.”
Maddy looked at her mother and me and
“And this man equates experiencing life with having sex?”
“Sally did,” Taylor said coldly. “If you’d seen that self-portrait she did when she was my age, you’d understand.”
“I have seen it, Taylor. I saw it in the living room of the man who owned it.”
Taylor’s eyes were brimming. “Then you know how amazing it is.”
“I do,” I said. “I also know that by the time your mother was fourteen, she’d suffered more than any child should ever suffer.”
“Because her father died and her mother didn’t have a good relationship with her,” Taylor said. “But she had Izaak Levin. You told me that when there was no one else, he took care of Sally. He gave her the chance to travel and the freedom to paint what she saw.”
“That’s true,” I said. “But there was more. Taylor, Izaak used your mother. He used her beauty, and he used her talent.”
“Whatever he did, it worked.” Taylor’s voice quivered, but her message was unequivocal. “When she was my age, Sally was making great art, and that’s worth everything.”
I picked up the ornament Taylor had slammed on the table. It was impossible to take a bad picture of Taylor, and this one wasn’t unflattering, but it was revealing. In it, for the first time since she’d come to me, there was uncertainty in her eyes and her smile was guarded. I stared at the photograph for a second too long, and Taylor noticed. “Do you think I look geeky?”
“You don’t look geeky,” I said. “You look as if you have a lot on your mind, which, clearly, you do. Taylor, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to make the kind of art that you and Sally make, but I do know that the life experience you bring to your work doesn’t have to be harsh. Angela Cheng says that when she plays certain pieces, she thinks about the way the light shines on her child’s hair.”
“Angela Cheng is a pianist, not a painter.”
“But she’s found a way to live that feeds her art. If you’re lucky and if you make the right choices, that can happen to you.”
Taylor leapt out of her chair and bounded onto my knee. The leap was as unexpected as it was sweet. “Everything’s changing,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But you’re going to be fine. Taylor, you
are
fine.”
Taylor was as tall as I was. Sitting on my knee was no longer easy for her, but we held on, united by our awareness that while there were battles ahead, we had been granted a reprieve. As we watched the snow fall, it seemed we breathed in unison.
Zack’s inability to do any but the most rudimentary jigsaw puzzle was a running joke between him and ourgranddaughters. That afternoon when Mieka and the girls arrived to help get our family dinner ready, both girls had puzzles jammed in their backpacks. Taylor was at the choral concert; Mieka and I had cooking to do; so, by process of elimination, Zack was on puzzle duty.
After the girls threw off their coats and boots, they descended on him. “The one I brought is so easy,” Lena cooed. “It’s a caterpillar, and even the littlest kids in junior kindergarten are bored with it.” “Mine’s a piano,” Madeleine said. “The box says it’s for ages five to eight, but you
play
the piano, Granddad, and there’s a picture, so you should be able to do it. If you get stuck, I’ll help you.”
Zack wheeled his chair close to the table. “Thanks for the offer, Maddy,” he said. “But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. I’m going to tackle these puzzles all by myself.”
Maddy looked at her mother and me and
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