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“This is Kopi,” Amy says proudly. “He’s one of twenty western lowland gorillas here at the zoo. I know zookeepers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but we all secretly do. Kopi is one of mine. And Andi, our giant anteater.”
“Will we be painting Kopi?” I cast a nervous glance at the imposing primate. This won’t come as a shock, but I’ve never been artistically gifted. I doubt I could manage to skillfully capture a convincing still life, let alone a live animal.
“Actually,” Amy says with the eager energy of someone who loves their job, “Kopi isn’t your subject matter. He’s your instructor.”
I stare blankly, positive I’ve misheard. Casting a quick glance at Brynn and Oliver, I wait for one of them to clarify, but they’re both grinning broadly, as if they’re privy to some inside joke.
“He’s what?” I ask, not hiding my confusion.
“Your instructor,” Amy repeats with a lighthearted laugh, delighting in my surprise. “All of our gorillas love to paint as part of their enrichment. They’ve each learned how to paint several different items, and are rewarded for participating. To them, it’s a fun game. But Kopi is somewhat of a prodigy in the ape community. He’s quite fastidious and takes his work very seriously. In fact, his pieces are so spectacular, they’re regularly auctioned off to raise money for the zoo. And once a year, our top donors are treated to an art class similar to the one you’ll be experiencing today.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Brynn gushes, her brown eyes glimmering as she gazes at Oliver with open appreciation. “I couldn’t believe it when Oliver explained it to me. Basically, Kopi is going to paint something and we follow along.”
“Like a bigger, hairier Bob Ross,” Oliver adds with a chuckle.
The eighties pop culture reference elicits a laugh from Brynn that’s a little too loud considering I doubt she’s ever heard of him. I only recognize the name because my parents made me watch his television showThe Joy of Paintingin an attempt to improve my embarrassing lack of artistic ability. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. But I mentally check off another box on the Proof Brynn Is Madly in Lovelist—laughing too hard at Oliver’s jokes.
“Exactly.” Amy nods her approval at their joint explanation. “And I suggest you follow along very closely. Kopi can be quite the perfectionist.”
My body tenses as we each settle on one of the stools, getting acquainted with our supplies while another zookeeper—a lanky, bearded man named Travis—hands supplies to Kopi through a small opening Amy calls a “pass through,” noting that we’ll be using nontoxic paint.
How much of a perfectionist could a gorilla be? They aren’t exactly known as the most graceful creatures in the animal kingdom. As he clumsily grips the paintbrush Travis hands him, I breathe a bit easier. With Kopi as our instructor, I’m going to guess the bar is set pretty low. So maybe I won’t make a huge fool out of myself after all.
However, as Travis holds up an image of a bowl filled with glossy red apples, and Kopi dips his bristles into the crimson pigment with a slow, deliberate motion, I have second thoughts. Amy was right—his brushwork is downright masterful. While their opposable thumbs are common knowledge, who knew gorillas had so much dexterity? Or at least,thisgorilla.
While I’m admiring his impressive detail work, a demoralizing thought hits me: I’m about to be bested by an ape.
Flashbacks to my many childhood failures invade my mind, and my fingers freeze above the canvas, completely immobile.
My parents were never the type to pin our artwork on the fridge. Instead, we had one place of honor on the mantel to display a single masterpiece at a time. Mom and Dad would judge our efforts on a variety of criteria from technique to composition, and the winner would be showcased for the entire month.
Let’s just say, my work has yet to be featured.
The constant losses used to bother me, but after a while, I made my peace with it. Matt and Veronica won, fair and square. But losing to a primate who unabashedly scratches his backside with his paintbrush? How would I live it down?
I take a deep breath. I’m dangerously close to ditching the class, which wouldn’t be fair to Brynn, Oliver, or Amy, who’s been incredibly generous with her time.
Get a grip, Quincy. You can do this.
Latching on to a loose parallel, I take comfort in the fact that we’re in the Congo Forest section of the zoo, drawing the coincidental connection to yesterday’s conga drum lesson. Recalling Wes’s words of wisdom, I remind myself to breathe and relax.Breathe and relax.
I repeat the mantra in my mind, and my stiff fingers slowly limber as I mimic Kopi’s movements. This is just like drumming with Wes, I tell myself. Art is personal, not perfection. Don’t overthink it. Justfeelit. Let the brushstrokes find you.
I close my eyes and allow the bristles of the paintbrush to do their thing, expecting my newfound, laid-back mindset to transfer to the canvas the same way it manifested in the studio with the conga drum. Except, when we’re finished and I take a peek at my handiwork, I realize this is nothing like yesterday’s experience. And maybe painting with my eyes closed wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.
“If you’re finished, please show your canvas to Kopi,” Amy tells us as we collectively set down our brushes.
“We have to show him?” I gulp, not prepared to have my work critiqued by anyone, let alone the wooly wunderkind, who, quite frankly, looks a little judgy for someone who relieves himself in public.
“Don’t worry.” She smiles kindly. “He’s been trained to clap when he’s shown someone’s canvas. It’s all part of the fun.”
Sure. Fun. This is supposed to be fun, I silently remind myself.
I breathe a little easier when Brynn and Oliver take turns showing Kopi their work and he applauds in approval before lumbering toward Travis for a treat. Okay, this isn’t so bad. He’s actually kind of cute when he claps. And a hundred percent less intimidating.
Feeling more at ease, I rotate my canvas.
His prominent brow ridge lowers when he studies the chaotic splash of colors. Not a good sign. Apprehension punctuates each pulse of my heartbeat, creeping closer to panic mode until he raises his palms, poised to slap them together. I release a pent-up breath, my shoulders relaxing. But my relief is woefully short-lived.
