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Chapter 20: Martha Checks Out the New Paintings

Nikola jumped when she heard the pounding on her apartment door. For the last two days, she had been in an intense and uninterrupted artistic spurt, working on the two new dream paintings. The sudden intrusion from the outside world came as a shock. Her brush was poised in mid-air as she glanced around anxiously, trying to comprehend what, and then who, was disturbing her. When her eyes found the large wall clock and read six-thirty, she knew immediately who it was, and Martha was not someone she really wanted to see at the moment.

The knock repeated as Nikola stood in front of her canvas, frozen to the spot. Her mind was racing. Immediately she thought of the note. What did Martha suspect? Does she think I know something damaging? But I don't really know anything. Why is she here?

Martha knocked again and Nikola could hear her voice calling through the door, "Nikola answer the door! I know you're in there, I saw your lights."

Nikola knew she had to answer it. Even if she avoided Martha today, seeing her again was inevitable, and something Nikola would have to learn how to deal with, suspicions notwithstanding. She put down her brush and went to the door.

"My, my, what happened to you? You look like you've been rolling on the wet canvasses. Is that your new painting style?" Martha asked when she stepped inside.

Nikola looked down at her apparel, and was surprised at the extent of paint coverage, but not alarmed. She was dressed in painting clothes, an old pair of ripped jeans and a corresponding T-shirt. She was covered with multi-colored smudges, which extended even to her arms and face. Her hair was pulled back, and on her face was evidence of the hard work and lack of sleep of the past few days. "Painting is a messy business. My whole body gets involved. It's much harder than you think."

"I don't believe that for a second," Martha said with a curt laugh, "You're just saying that to discourage the rest of us, so you don't have too much competition for your precious paintings."

"I have more than enough competition already."

"Oh, I know dear, believe me I know. And, regardless of what I think about the difficulty of painting, I know how fierce the competition is, and that part's definitely not easy. But that's not what I came here to talk about today. I came to remind you that you have a party to attend tomorrow night, or have you already forgotten?"

"That's not tomorrow, is it? Can it be Friday already?" While Nikola was talking with Martha, who seemed to be in one of her better moods, Nikola found herself questioning her suspicions of the other woman. Much to Nikola's surprise, she reacted to Martha as more of a friend than an adversary. Martha could be very disarming when she wanted to be, and often Nikola had a hard time thinking of her as anything but the straightforward cosmopolitan business woman she presented herself as.

"Of course, dear. Where have you been?"

"I always lose track of time when I'm painting. I can't help it. I get so involved in the painting - it's like entering another world. Especially lately, with these dream paintings. I definitely feel like I'm in a different world. It's almost scary sometimes."

"So, you did forget all about the party," Martha scolded. "You can't get out of it now, you already promised me that you would attend."

"I haven't forgotten about it at all. I've been thinking of nothing else. I even invited Greg to join me when he called yesterday."

"Did you really? So he called again?"

"Yes, he did indeed. He called to ask me out again."

"And did you accept?"

"I asked him to come with me to the party instead."

"Is he coming?"

"Yes, he is."

"Well, that will be quite a feather in our cap, dear. To have a reporter in tow with our gallery entourage is perfect. And I expect you'll get a very favorable article out of it."

"That's not why I'm seeing him." Once again Martha's mercenary outlook on life amazed Nikola.

"I'm sure it's not, dear, but it can't hurt. So, what current project has caused you to cover yourself with paint?"

"It's another dream..."

"Oh no, Nikola, not another dream. This is getting ridiculous. You have to go back to the old paintings. You're wasting your time with these dreams. We'll never be able to display and sell them."

"Well, it's my time. If I want to waste it, that's my privilege."

"But if you keep going like this, we're going to be in big trouble when it comes time for your next exhibition. You know it's not that long to the end of your stay here. You won't have anything to show then. You know, the gallery has a stake in this too. We expect to have something to show for your year here. We expected you to produce a series showing your inspiration from this trip. We can't use paintings of a bunch of nightmares. You know you're not in this alone. You have a responsibility to the gallery." Martha paced as she lectured, occasionally throwing a stern glance towards Nikola.

"By the time of that exhibit, you'll have your paintings, don't worry," Nikola replied curtly. "But I need the space to do my own thing too. That's what being an artist is all about, after all. How can I produce meaningful art when I can't even resolve my own issues? Besides, I know you don't agree with me, but I believe that the work I'm doing now is more important and deeper than my earlier work. I'm learning a lot from all this, and it will make me a much better artist as a result. You should support self-exploration in the gallery artists. It's the only way they'll ever grow."

"I can't imagine how making horribly ugly paintings will help you grow, but I don't want to argue with you. It sounds like you're going through a major identity crisis and you're going to do whatever you want anyway. If I can ever help get you back on track, let me know."

"I don't think anyone can help with this."

"This last dream, was it also a nightmare?"

"For a change I didn't wake up screaming, so I guess I couldn't really call it a nightmare. Parts of it were actually pleasant."

"Really? And the paintings from it, how are they?"

"You can look at them if you'd like to, but you have to promise not to insult them first. If you don't like them, don't say anything."

"All right, I promise."

Nikola walked into the studio with Martha at her heels. "Remember they're not quite finished," she said as they approached the two new paintings, which were deep in shadow. Nikola flipped on the studio lights, illuminating them.

The two paintings stood side by side and differed sharply from one another. The only aspect they had in common was the stark realistic style in which they were painted. On the left, stood a painting of a man's silhouette in front of a huge, raging fire. The painting was predominantly bright yellow: the color of the fire which covered most of the canvas. Reds and oranges sparked up throughout the yellow, serving to accentuate its brilliance. It was almost too bright to be paint: light seemed to emanate from the canvas. The bully from Nikola's dream had become a huge man, whose silhouette stood almost the entire height of the canvas, blocking out the center of the flames. He held the torch up with one hand, and although the flame from his torch blended in with the fire behind him, it did not diminish the menacing attitude of his pose. Nikola was pleased to see that Martha spent a few minutes in front of this canvas before moving on to the other one.

The second canvas depicted the sanctuary of Nikola's dream. It was a realistic rendition of the clearing and the foliage surrounding it, done in mostly greens and browns, with a light spot at the center where the sunlight came directly through.

"This one looks really sad like this," Martha commented in front of the sanctuary painting. "It would be much cheerier with some people in it."

"There were figures there once, and maybe there will be some there again someday, but at the moment it's deserted, and lonely. I could feel that in the dream, although I don't know what it means, or even what this place represents." As Nikola looked at the painting, she longed to go back there, but back when and back where were mysteries. 

"To be honest, I like these much better than any of the other ones that you've done here so far. Of course, it's nothing like your regular style, but there's something intriguing in them. Especially that one with the man in front of the fire. What do you call it?"

"'Fire Threat.' I call the other one 'Secret Place.' I don't know if they're the right names, but I'm not very good with names; they never seemed very important to me. I've seen other artists use them very well, and completely change the viewers perspective on a work of art, but I like my paintings to speak for themselves. I'm a completely visual person."

"Most of yours do, dear, you have nothing to worry about. By the way, even though I like these paintings more than the others you've been doing lately, that doesn't change the way I feel about all this painting from dreams stuff. I still think it would be a suicidal career move to show these. Collectors don't like it when artists change styles, and art careers are very tenuous these days. But I don't have to tell you all that, you know how I feel, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to emphasize the point. You're a fascinating woman, Nikola, but absolutely impossible to manage."

"Maybe that's because I don't want to be managed."

"I am beginning to realize just that. But no person is an island; you can't completely cut yourself off. Don't forget that."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"All right. Well, on that note, I'll take my leave, and I'll see you and Greg at the party tomorrow night. Don't wear the same dress as you did for the reception, all the same people will be there."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

With her usual flair, Martha ended her visit and left Nikola alone with her paintings, once again. Now that she had had a break, and a chance to examine them anew, she was filled with ideas for finishing them. She was determined to get them all down before she forgot anything, and continued working through the night.

By mid-morning on Saturday, she knew she would have to go to sleep soon if she was going to be at all awake for the party that evening, but she still had a few finishing touches to do on "Secret Place" and she was enjoying painting. She found that, at the moment, she really liked this one. Of course, that could change, and probably would, at least three times in the next few weeks, but for the time being, she had good feelings about both of them.

She glanced up at a large wall clock and saw that it was past ten o'clock. With the acknowledgment of the time, a wave of fatigue swept over her, and she realized that she needed to get to sleep immediately. Over twenty four hours had passed since she woke up, and rest was overdue. She admired her new painting one last time, smiled and headed for her bedroom. Minutes later, her paint-stained clothing was in a heap on the floor and she was comfortably in bed, under the blankets, asleep almost as soon as she climbed in.

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