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CHAPTERSEVEN
Maxi stood in the Lobster Bay art gallery admiring the new display of impressionist paintings hanging on the wall. They showed ocean scenes by a Kennebunk, Maine, artist who was known for his use of wide brush strokes with bold colors and masterful contrast of light and dark.
The art gallery was one of her favorite places and where she came when she was feeling a bit off. The main room was always quiet and peaceful. The white walls were a perfect backdrop to showcase the paintings and sculptures. A few strategically located potted plants softened the area and brought nature inside. The light streaming in from the two-story windows bathed the paintings in a golden glow, especially in the late afternoon, when it slanted in at an angle, as it was doing right now.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Muriel Fox, who worked at the gallery a few days a week, looked chipper this morning. She had short cropped white hair that framed a tanned face. Her turquoise blouse and rainbow-striped broomstick skirt added color. Dozens of bangles jangled on her wrist as she crossed her arms over her chest and stood back to admire the painting.
“Gorgeous. I love the use of color and how the sunlight dances on top of the waves.”
“Me too.” Muriel turned from the painting. “So, what brings you in? Just admiring art today or another reason?”
Maxi sighed. “I have a bit of a problem, and it usually helps me to come here and think.”
Muriel looked concerned. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”
Muriel had been instrumental in helping Maxi reconnect with her love of painting. If anyone could help, she could. Maxi told her about the commission to paint Goblin and how important it was for her to get it right.
“So what’s the problem? Perspective? Color? Fur techniques? Animals are much different than landscapes,” Muriel said.
“You can say that again. I think the problem is that I can’t capture the embodiment of Goblin’s character. The life in her eyes. The expression on her face.”
“Ahh, yes, makes sense. Have you tried practicing on something that isn’t so important? The anxiety of getting it right might be blocking your creativity. I know how Bert and Harry loved her. She was such a good dog.”
Muriel might be on to something. Maybe Maxi had been trying too hard. Putting too much weight on getting it perfect. “That’s good advice. I went right into painting Goblin, and it does feel a bit stressful. Maybe I will practice on my cats, Rembrandt and Picasso. I can relax when there’s not so much riding on the outcome.” Just thinking about her two cats—one solid white and one solid black—made Maxi smile. She’d gotten them as kittens over the summer, and while they’d grown a lot, they weren’t full-grown yet and still got into everything.
Suddenly more optimistic, Maxi hitched her blue-and-white-striped tote bag up on her shoulder. “Thanks, Muriel. As usual, you have great advice.”
“If that doesn’t work, you might consider a lesson. I know someone right in town who is a master at animals. Let me write down her number.” Muriel grabbed a business card from the desk and scribbled something on the back. “Her name is Bunny Howard. She’s getting on in years, but I think she’ll be happy to help you out.”
Maxi took the card and rushed out. She was suddenly eager to get to the little cottage on the beach that she used as an art studio.
It was a short walk to her car in Perkins Cove, and the fresh air felt great. She spotted Jane and Mike heading into Oarweeds, but she didn’t have time to visit with them. She needed to get to her cottage while there was still some natural light for her to paint by.
