by Lund, S. E.
"I paint human landscapes. The ones that interest me show the extremes of our lives. Poverty next to wealth, hunger juxtaposed against gluttony. My art is supposed to make you feel something. The judgment that it's political is yours."
I examined the elephants standing in the small group by the trees.
"What did you feel about them?" he said, his voice passionate. "Why elephants and not trees or the sky or the river? Why did you choose elephants?"
Why did I choose elephants for my subject?
I shook my head. "When I see elephants, I think that they're such magnificent animals. They've evolved for millions of years, honed by evolution to survive in a harsh environment and we're killing them off, sending them to near extinction. For what?" I said, anger filling me. "For ivory? For jewelry, for piano keys? So we can brag that we killed such a large animal with an elephant gun? It makes me sick."
"There," he said and stood up. "That's your voice. What could you do to express that sense of outrage?"
I shook my head. "I don’t know…"
Sefton turned to look at the elephants. "When you figure that out, you'll have found your voice and maybe, you might produce something that is truly art. If you can't think of how to express your feelings with pencils or paint or clay, then stick to activism. Art is expressing your voice using artistic media. It's not mimicry."
With that, he walked away from me and went back to his own work. I sat in stunned silence, pain filling me that he found my work lacking. My cheeks heated and it wasn't the African sun.
Was he right? Was my drawing fit for nothing other than my own closet? Was it nothing more than basic mimicry?
I felt completely disheartened at that point and drew half-heartedly. I wanted to rip up my paper and burn it. With a few sentences, Sefton had succeeded in completely destroying my view of myself as a budding artist.
I watched the elephants for a moment, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. Sefton was an accomplished artist. His art was on display in galleries in London and Paris and Manhattan. He was the artist in residence at the Institute. People used his art on album covers and posters, it was so popular.
He thought my work was technically skilled but not art. Mimicry.
The elephant mother moved closer to its calf, and rested its snout over the calf's head, in what could only be seen as an show of affection. The calf leaned in, as if it craved its mother's touch, its own trunk reaching up to touch that of its mother. The scene was touching.
The elephants were so beautiful, and obviously intelligent in their own way, with their own feelings and emotions and desires. The trade in ivory made me sick – to think that people killed the matriarchs for their ivory, leaving orphans to grow up without their mothers when clearly they loved each other – in an elephant way. It made my gut clench. Few things made me feel a need for violence, but this was one.
I removed my current drawing from the easel, and replaced it with a clean piece of paper. I picked up the binoculars and did a quick sketch of the mother and calf, focusing in on their bodies so that I could show their trunks, trying to quickly capture them as they touched. Instead of the elephants being small against a large landscape of trees and savannah, I decided to do a more intimate portrait of the two elephants. The entire page was elephant with no background.
To hell with Sefton.
I wanted to capture that moment, to show that these animals cared about one another and that they enjoyed touching. There was no need for them to touch. They chose to do it. It affected me deeply to witness it and that was why I wanted to draw it.
I took a photo before the elephants moved position. I'd do an acrylic of them when I went back to Nairobi, and I'd do it with as much detail and as much skill as I could. Whether it met the criteria for 'art', I didn’t care.
We had a break for tea and a snack at mid-afternoon, and I took the opportunity to use the makeshift tent lavatory. When I came out, Sefton was talking to the guard he'd just drawn. The guard adjusted the rifle over his shoulder, pulled out another cigarette and lit it while Sefton spoke with him.
Sefton turned and glanced at me as I passed. I felt his eyes on me as I returned to my easel with my cup of tea and sat examining my new drawing. The head and shoulders of the mother with the calf beneath her took up the entire paper. I had started to draw the detail of the mother's eye, capturing the long eyelashes, the tracks of moisture leading down from the corner of the eye. I grew hot enough from the heat of the late afternoon sun that I had to remove my shirt, which left me in the tank top I wore underneath, and fan myself for a moment to cool off before I continued to work on my sketch.
Sefton returned to my easel and stood in silence for a moment, watching me as I worked to capture the rough skin, with deep cracks and fissures.
"That's more like it," he said.
"What do you mean? It's still elephants."
"It is elephants," Sefton said, his voice chiding. "But at least now, you've made a choice and have chosen to show them doing something. Why did you choose that? There was a reason."
"I—"
"No," he said before I could explain my choice. "I don’t want you to tell me why you chose that. I should feel it when I look at your drawing."
I took my hand away from the drawing and sat there like a lump, frowning when Sefton examined the page.
"Come on, Kate," he said, frustration in his voice. "Why won’t you take the master class? I would help you – we would help you. Push you to develop your voice. The drawing class with Talia is entirely unnecessary. You don’t need practice drawing. You need to paint. You need to paint and paint and paint until you find your voice."
"You want to know why?" I said, anger getting the better of me. "Because you make me uncomfortable."
I didn’t look at him but I heard him chuckle.
"But you're engaged to that doctor," he said, his tone softly mocking. "You’re so in love, how could little old me make you uncomfortable?" he said and stepped closer to me. "Is it, perhaps, that I know of your inclinations?" Then he touched my shoulder where Drake had bitten me. I winced and pulled away from him, pulling on my shirt to cover it, forgetting that it was visible.
"Stop."
"So you like it a bit rough, do you?" he said, his voice low. "Or does he?"
"It's none of your business," I said, angry that he was so forward.
"Oh, Kate. There's so much I could teach you," he said quietly. "Why don't you take the master class?"
"Because you're inappropriate." I sat staring at the landscape, the warm wind ruffling a few loose strands of my hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of my eyes. "You're rude."
He knelt down beside me, facing me. I glanced at him and saw that he was smiling.
"How am I rude and inappropriate? I'm only telling you the truth. I'm only being honest. For example, this fiancé of yours. Where is he?" Sefton said, glancing around, his hand making an arc in the air. "Why isn't he here, experiencing this with you? If you were mine, I would never leave you alone. I understand your desire to express something with your art, even if you don't yet know what it is. I also understand your other desires."
"Drake has his own life. He's a highly skilled neurosurgeon who—"
"I know who and what he is. My question is why a man who has you as his lover would let you go away for a weekend with a man who's been clearly interested in you."
"So you admit it," I said, turning to face him, my cheeks hot from the adrenaline that coursed through me.
"Of course I admit it – a beautiful young and talented submissive who is also an artist? How could I not be interested? How could I not try to win you?"
I turned away.
"It doesn’t matter how you feel. Drake and I are getting married so you shouldn't approach me, knowing I'm engaged."
He waved his hand in dismissal. "These are social conventions. Marriages fail. Engagements end. People are with other people for the wrong reasons. You think because he tie
s you up and gives you pleasure that he's the one? Tell me this – is he your first Dom?” He stared at me but I didn’t answer. “I thought so.” He smiled as if in triumph. “Do you really think that because he’s able to control you, dominate you, that he’s the one? Does he know anything about art?"
"He's a musician. He knows about the arts."
"I said, does he know anything about art? Can he understand your need to draw and paint?"
"He encourages me. He made sure we found a house so I could have a studio."
"If you were mine," Sefton said as if he hadn't even heard me. "I'd be able to teach you so much, show you so much. This doctor of yours is pretty busy, no? Always working, teaching, with his students. Not much of a life for you."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation," I said, indignation filling me. "I'm in love with Drake. That's the end of it."
"Whatever you say, Kate. But think of this – when you're all alone those days and nights when he's off working at the hospital or teaching or doing whatever else he does, what will you be doing all alone with your paints? If you were with me, we'd spend our lives together."
He stalked away, and I glared at his back.
My heart was pounding, my hands shaking. Who did he think he was to talk to me like that? Saying those things? He was a rude buffoon. A total jerk.
And yet…
And yet he'd merely expressed the very fears I'd been having for the past couple of weeks while Drake shadowed Michael and I was alone at either the hotel or our new home. I would have to be alone a lot, if I married Drake. He'd always have his surgical practice, which, because of his specialized skills, would put him in very high demand. He had his foundation and he had his band. And he had the surgical implements business his father started…
Where would I fit in?
He loved me. I knew he did. I loved him. We'd find a way to share our lives. Maybe I wouldn't be with him as much as I wanted, but whatever time he had, I wanted to spend with him.
Sefton was a total jerk to try to come between us. He thought that because I was a submissive and an artist that somehow we were more compatible? There wasn't a bone in my body that was compatible with Sefton. I disliked him from the start and I disliked him even more now.
It was only late Friday afternoon and my safari was already ruined. I despaired about the rest of the safari, and regretted agreeing to come with Claire. How would I get through the entire weekend?
I sat fuming for a moment, my drawing forgotten in my funk. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the wind through the tall grass, rippling the leaves on the trees behind me. I breathed in the scent of the savannah – clean and pure, the air hot in the late afternoon.
I decided then and there I wouldn’t let Sefton ruin the safari for me. I had the new drawing of the elephants to finish. I was glad he challenged me, for I did think that the drawing I was doing now was better. He was right about art. It had to be more than picture-perfect mimicry. Any photographer could take that picture I was drawing before and it would be even more realistic. My work had to be more than a photographic reproduction of the scene before me. It had to speak to anyone viewing it.
I had to find my voice.
I decided then and there that I would use Sefton. I didn’t like him. There was no way he could hope to seduce me so there was no risk in engaging him. If he thought he'd get into my panties, he was sorely mistaken. But he could teach me about being an artist. I could learn from him and Talia.
I also decided then and there that I would take the Master class on Thursday nights. I did want to paint and I wouldn’t let Sefton's presence ruin it for me. He could imagine he was seducing me all he wanted. I wasn’t responsible for his desires. He wouldn’t have me as a submissive. But he could have me as a student.
I turned back to my drawing, newly determined not to let him ruin my weekend. I continued to work on the mother elephant, capturing the deep crags and fissures in her skin, the large warm brown of her eye, the huge pupil, the pits and marks on her skin. She was a magnificent animal, her body and behaviors honed by millions of years of evolution to withstand the harsh realities of the African savannah. How humans could wipe out her species without thought I didn't understand. I'd do my best to impart how I felt in my drawing, and later, my paintings. I decided I wanted to capture several photographs of the elephants closer up, using the zoom lens and do a series of works.
If Sefton didn’t think it was art, he could go to hell.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Around five thirty, the guide came to us and announced that it was time to wrap things up.
I was pleased with my drawing, and had been able to finish a considerable portion of the work, including the entire mother elephant's face and trunk as it reached down to her baby. I'd work on the rest of it back home. We'd be going to another location tomorrow to see other wildlife and so I'd be starting another drawing. But at least I now had a vision for a series of paintings I wanted to do and would have lots to occupy myself back in Nairobi. I was actually excited about getting back to our house and to my studio so I could work on the painting.
I started to pack my pencils when Sefton returned to my easel and stood examining my drawing.
"It's quite good," he said, his voice soft, with none of the lip he'd used earlier.
"Thank you," I said, turning to look at it. "I'm happy with it. I'm going to use it as a study for an acrylic painting when I get back to Nairobi so thank you. I'm glad you said what you did about it."
"You're very welcome, Kate. I'm only too glad to be of service. In any way you need me."
He smiled at me, his smile suggestive but I smiled back, ignoring his comment. Then, I removed the drawing from the easel and slid it into my art portfolio, glad that I'd come to some kind of peace with myself about my situation, trapped with Sefton for the rest of the weekend.
"I've decided that I'm going to take the Master class after all. You're right. I do want to focus on painting. Drawing is only a way to figure out what I want to paint."
He made a face at that, his eyes widening. "Wonderful," he said, his voice a bit shocked. "You won't regret it. I think I can really teach you a lot if we work together. You already have very good technical skill and a very good eye. All you need is the inspiration and of course, lots of hard work, to develop your voice. But I warn you – I'm a very stern taskmaster."
I stopped him when he walked up to me, my hand on his arm. "You have to understand that I want you to teach me about art, help me develop my voice. I want to use you – your expertise. Nothing more."
"Oh, I like that. You using me…" He grinned.
"Sefton," I said, not letting him get to me. "Let me make this completely clear. Nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing. I'm in love with Drake."
"Clear as a bell."
Then, his entire demeanor changed. He became a total gentleman, helping me with my portfolio and case while I folded up my bench and easel and carried it to the bus. We loaded them onto the baggage compartment and he stood and motioned to the interior, letting me board before him. He sat next to me on the bus, and made small talk with me on the way back to the base camp by the Mara River.
Did he think that because I agreed to take the Master class that he had somehow won me over as well?
He was entirely mistaken. I wasn't leading him on. I'd been honest that I wasn't interested in him personally.
He'd be my teacher. Nothing more.
Back at base camp, we met up with Claire and the other members of the safari who were in the photography group. Our evening meal would be served in an hour and so I had a nice hot shower to wash away the day's sweat and dust. When I was finished, I went to the tent so Claire could freshen up.
"How was your day? Did you enjoy the session with Sefton?" Claire said through the door to the bathroom as she changed clothes.
"I did," I said. "I'm glad he came along. He's really made me think about my art in a way I hadn't yet."
"Oh, isn't that wonderful!" Claire opened the door to washroom and smiled at me as if she was really pleased.
"Yes," I said and joined her at the counter, pulling my hair up into a bun. "I'm going to take that master class after all, the one that he and Talia Abasi offer on Thursday nights."
"Good for you. You should be involved with other artists. Drake will probably be very busy the entire time he's here so it's good you're getting to know the community. They'll keep you busy," she said and patted my arm. "Out of trouble." She laughed and primped in front of the mirror like my best girlfriend.
Claire and I made our way to the dining tent where we were greeted by a hundred pillar candles, gleaming crystal and the scent of delicious food, savory with local spices. My stomach growled and I hadn't realized how hungry I was because I'd been so engrossed in my work.
Sefton sat with us and we had a lively discussion about development in Africa and how hard it was to find a balance between economic opportunity and destruction of the environment. The meal was delicious and I even had a nice glass of wine with my meal. Sefton tried to pour more into wine into our glasses, but I held my hand over mine.
"Sorry," I said and took my glass away. "I know my limit. I'm a very cheap drunk."
Sefton made a face at that, but didn’t push. Claire, however, had another glass and her voice became even more ebullient than usual, her cheeks flushed. All of us were a bit sunburnt from our day on the savannah, and the wine made everything more relaxed.
At about nine-thirty, our guide stood up and announced that if anyone was interested, he would lead a trek to the makeshift observatory that had been set up with a telescope and would spend some time looking at the stars. We were welcome to take photographs if we liked. This was something I looked forward to so I stood up and prepared to join the small group who was going with the guide.
"You like astronomy?" Sefton asked, standing up when I did.
"Yes. I have since I was a child. I was really looking forward to this since we first made plans to come to Africa. The skies at night are amazing."