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Handsome, intelligent, kind. He could seem a bit stuffy at times, but she'd learned the art of teasing him out of that, reveling in her ability to make him smile. Everett was tender and nurturing, bringing her coffee and tea and even snacks, during the day when he took a break from his heavy workload to come check on her in the studio.
"Oh, my dear..." Margo said.
Isabel glanced at the image, knowing in her heart of hearts which one it was. She'd poured herself into that piece, even though it had taken shape faster than any other she'd painted. "I'm afraid that piece is already sold."
"So I see," Margo said, finger tapping on the red tag Isabel had pasted over the corner to keep things simple. "Is it still available for showing?"
"Oh, um...perhaps? I can ask the buyer if th-they would be willing to delay acceptance. If we do a show, I mean."
"Please do. And as to a show—yes, my dear, I'd be honored to sponsor one for you. I so hope you'll say yes." Margo flipped back to the beginning of Izzy's portfolio and started over again. "But first let me explain. We’ve started something new in order to draw in a younger crowd. It’s different than most normal gallery shows, but I think you might like it."
Izzy watched as the woman took in her attire, her gaze sweeping over her clothes to her necklace, earrings, and even the bracelets on her arm. The clothes were Amelia's, but they'd paired well with the costume jewelry Izzy had picked up over the years.
Margo went on to explain how her physical gallery had closed due to Covid and wasn't a true brick-and-mortar structure any longer. That said, it was still in business and moved throughout the city whenever they found an artist they felt strongly about featuring.
"Oh, but I don't have a following. At least not much of one. My customers are all mostly in the Carolinas."
"Yes, but we can work with that. Your beachscapes could represent anywhere in the world, and these"—she waved a hand over the iPad—“are timeless.” Margo continued, "We keep the guest list tight,exclusive, and directions to the showcase aren't even made public until the last possible moment, adding to the mystique of the artist who will be featured."
"Oh, how fun," Isabel said, having never heard of such a thing.
"Right? It's something new we're trying. We've only done one other showcase like this as a trial run, but our clients ate it up, and it was one of our most successful showsever."
"So would I share the showcase with other artists?" She wondered if she had enough work to fill something of that scale.
"No. It's only one artist per showcase so the focus is on you—and items you personally curate as contributing art."
Contributing art? "I don't understand." Itemsshewould curate?
"Your art is the focus, of course, but we want it showcased in a home setting. So buyers can see how it would look in their own home. Things like nice throws or pillows, small pieces of furniture like settees, ottomans. Perhaps costume jewelry like you’re wearing, or clothing close in feel to what your art displays? Complimentary decor that highlights your art in every way and makes the buyers want the complete package."
"Window dressing.”
“Yes, exactly.”
She could see it. Like staging a house for resale, her art would be enhanced by the items she chose to go with it.
Her imagination went wild with ideas. Her beach images were easy. Wraps and gauzy coverups, big, floppy hats, along with hammered rings and bracelets, anklets. Driftwood tables, seagrass baskets. Oversized seashells? Designer towels? She could see where the Hamptons crowd would definitely enjoy having the matching done for them and the artwork to boot.
As to her latest pieces, maybe she could showcase a watch like Everett wore? Would a jewelry store loan such a thing if they thought they might sell it? Didn't Hollywood celebs "borrow" jewelry all the time for events? But what about the rest? She couldn't exactly cover the cost of the items, especially when they weren't guaranteed to sell, and she couldn't ask Everett after everything he'd already done for her. It was too much.
"I can see your mind whirling with ideas," Margo said, a wide smile on her face. "Does this mean you accept? You'll be one of our showcases? We've been narrowing down candidates for our next one, but I knew the moment Mr. Drake sent that email that I just had to have you. Say yes, Isabel."
Isabel didn't go homeafter her meeting. She'd left Margo with a promise to get in touch once she finalized her answer, but the last thing she wanted was to promise something she couldn't deliver. And when it came to "curating" the other items that would go with her show, she wasn't sure how to go about it.
The gallery would give her a small stipend, which would be reimbursed before she was paid—unless, of course, she wanted to front the expense of the curated items entirely. Then, the gallery would simply take a percentage of her sales after marking things up, to cover the cost of the building, publicity, invitations, catering etc.
Izzy left the building and followed a group of tourists down the street. A block later, she entered a small cafe and ordered a coffee, and once she found a seat, she called Amelia.
"Hey! So how's the big city?"
Amelia's excitement transferred over the phone and Izzy smiled automatically. "It's good. Crowded. Bright," she said, looking out at the sunshine glaring off of the glass across from her. "How's the baby mama?"
"We're fine. Just missing the days when I could put on my own shoes—or see them."
Izzy laughed at the comment and fiddled with the cover on her cup.
"Iz? What's going on? Are you okay?"
