“Is he an artist too?” one kid asked.
“He is.” Kate beamed at me, and I wanted to be worthy of that smile. I wanted to be the man she saw—the artist. “And he’s going to paint with us today.”
“Yay!” they shouted, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“All right.” Kate clapped her hands together, and they stared at her with rapt interest. I was beginning to think she was some kind of kid whisperer or something. I marveled at the change in their behavior from wild banshees to perfect angels. It was…astonishing. And now that they weren’t screaming, even I could admit they were pretty cute.
“Grab your supplies, and let’s get painting!”
The kids moved about the room, gathering what they needed without further instruction. They were quiet now, focused. It was almost as if they felt they’d been entrusted with a solemn task. In a way, they had. Creating art was a task worthy of inner contemplation, of the utmost respect.
“Come with me,” Kate said in a quieter voice, beckoning me to follow her around the room. As if I needed the invitation; I would gladly go wherever she went.
I tucked my hands behind my back as I walked beside her from easel to easel. “What’s their assignment?”
“To paint.”
“Yes. But what exactly are they painting?” I asked.
“Whatever they want. It’s all about self-expression.”
“But surely there’s some structure? Some…expectation?”
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s the point. This is a space for them to be free. They don’t have an adult telling them what to do—or not to do. They can express themselves without judgment, without fear.”
I nodded, understanding the appeal. I didn’t need to know the details of the students’ home lives to understand. The school wasn’t in the best part of town, and I imagined art was an outlet for them. A way to escape from reality. I’d certainly turned to art in the past when I needed solace.
I’d turned to art for many things throughout my life, which was why it was especially frustrating that the one thing that had consistently brought me joy, peace of mind, pleasure, was now creating only pain.
“Hey.” Kate touched my shoulder. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
She led me over to the supply corner, grabbing a few items for herself. “I usually spend some time painting with them. You’re welcome to join us or just observe. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
“I think I’ll just watch for now,” I said.
“If you change your mind, help yourself to whatever you need.”
What I needed was her—painting with me, of course. I remained convinced that my piece was crap, but it was better than anything else I’d done since my accident. Kate kept me calm, gave me confidence. I didn’t want to do it without her.
I spent the rest of the class observing the kids. They were so different from the students I taught at LA CAD. For one, they seemed to wiggle a lot more, sticking out their tongues or tapping their feet. But for another, they seemed happier, more relaxed. One little girl in particular caught my eye—she hummed as she painted, completely content. I wanted to be like her. I wanted to find that joy again.
But it was Kate who had captured my attention, smiling at the children. She was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever met, and it wasn’t just her pouty lips or full breasts. It was her heart. It was the way she took time to help others, to encourage them. Encourage me.
I realized that’s what had drawn me to her—she was so genuine, so honest. And I’d never been with a woman quite like her. Most of them were always “on,” always playing a part. It was exhausting. But with Kate—she was never anything but herself.
Toward the end of the class, Kate had each of the children hang their piece on one of the walls. It created a colorful sort of temporary mural. Though some were better than others from a technical standpoint, each was beautiful in its own way.
“Let’s talk about what everyone created today. We can start with this one.” She indicated one near the top. It was a wash of watercolors, no clear shapes or design.
“Someone tell me what they like about it,” Kate said, and several hands flew up. She pointed to one of the students.
“I like the pink color,” the girl said.
“Excellent.” Kate smiled. “How about this one?” She indicated another painting.
She continued this process until each and every painting had been discussed, some more than others. Still, the students found something positive to say about each of the pieces.
