Chapter 42 Professor - Lily
I'm nervous when I walk to the campus coffee shop, knowing that Frank is following me and keeping his eyes on me. I don't want to look like a freak in front of my professor, so I hope that Frank stays well out of sight today.
My portfolio is under my arm, and my palms are sweaty when I think of what he might say of my work. I haven't had anyone examine my art before, the nuns at school who gave me art class always just said I was good, I don't even think they knew what they were talking about.
I'm also pretty sure Vincent had something to do to get me into this college, which does make me feel that maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I should have just continued to draw and paint at home in my little studio and live happily ever after.
Professor Bernard is already waiting for me, and I know for a fact that I'm not late, I made sure I'm at least ten minutes early. He smiles that charming smile of his when he sees me approach and gets up from his chair.
"Lily, it is good to see you."
"Professor." I nod, before taking the seat he shows to me.
I blow out the breath I didn't know I was holding in, and open my portfolio. "I've never had an expert in art history look at my work before, so it's quite an honor."
"No need to be nervous." He waves his hand dismissively. "The reason for these meetings are solely for the college. Every year a freshman gets chosen to display some of their work at the annual art show. I usually decide who that student will be quite early on at the start of the academic year, because I work with that student very closely."
So this is almost like a damn job intervoew. Now I'm even more nervous, my usual bravado gone.
A server stops at our tabel and I order my usual iced dark chocolate mocha, hoping the familiar drink will calm me down somehow.
"I really didn't expect that." I tell him after he takes our order and leaves. "I would've maybe chosen something else."
He smiles reassuringly. "This is not about perfection, Lily, and as you know, art is more subjective than objective. I just identify the student who would be the best prepared for the show."
He takes the portfolio from my hands, and I watch nervously as he goes through pictures of my work, some of them I had to print that morning because I didn't feel it was quite right last night.
"Mmmm." He lingers on the sketch I did of Vincent's face with the cigarette between his lips.
What the hell is he thinkning?
Probably that I'm an amateur wanting to play artist amongst real artsists.
He snaps the protfolio closed, and turns slightly in his seat so that his body is more angled towards me.
"Tell me about yourself, Lily."
"What?"
This is usually territory I'm not allowed to cross. I'm not supposed to tell people I'm the daughter of the Irish mafia head in the Boston area, or that we're killers and deal in highly illegal businesses that are disguised as legal with money laundering. If they don't know who I am, I don't inform them.
"What is art if not the artist himself?" He leans forward on the wooden table, and a faint sniff of his aftershave wafts over to me. "There's a reason why the artist paints, draw or sculpts something, isn't there? A message behind the art, so what is it that Lily wants to say?"
I've always just drawn and painted what I saw. A tree, a house, a lake, people.
"I...I like painting landscapes." I clear my throat, hoping the server is quick with my drink so I can have something to down the nerves.
"But why?" He titls his head to examine me closer. "What is the story you want to tell? Every piece should tell a story."
I knew it. I knew my work wasn't good enough to be an artist, and I was whining that I couldn't live my life the way I wanted to. Turns out, I wasn't even that talented.
I'm grateful when the server drops off our dinks, and the coolness of the iced coffee is welcome in my throat.
"You show immense potential, Lily." Professor Bernard surprises me by saying. "I especially like the portrait of your husband."
I almost choke on the ice in my mouth. Of course he knew I was married, and I'm pretty sure the whole of Chicago knows who the DiCassio's are.
"You married quite young." He says more as an obervation than a question.
"No offense, Professor, but I don't see how my personal life has anything to do with my portfolio." I find my pair of balls from somewhere.
"Because your personal life is your art! Your art is you! "He says passionately, and I realize I might be over my head here.
While I was painting my father's garden, this man was studying all the greats, analyzing every single detail of every single brush stroke.
"I would love to see you again in two weeks, Lily." he smiles encouragingly. "How about painting the sketch, I want to see how you portray it in color and strokes."
I don't tell him that I've never painted a person's face before, and that I might find it challenging, but that's why I'm here right? To learn, to grow and explore.
"Okay."I sound way more confident than what I feel.
"Then I will see you back here in two weeks, same place and same time."
He refuses that I pay for my drink, stating that it's on the college, and I'm a little unsure when I leave, Frank falling in step beside me.
"You look troubled." He notices. "Want me to break the professor's nose?"
That actually makes me chuckle in the midst of my nerves. "Thanks, but no. I think this whole art school thing is way more than I bargained for."
"Somethimes freedom comes with a price." He raises his eyebrows at me when he opens the car door. "You just choose if it's worth it."
I'm certainly not a coward, and this is what I wanted, so this is what I'll do. Maybe I can even have Vincent pose for me, that's if he is at home long enough.
Who knew my husband would turn out to be my best work?