by Karis Walsh
A thousand completed to-do lists.
*
Aspen used a small sculpting tool and carved excess clay from a tendril of ivy until it was as thin and delicate as she envisioned. She glanced at her sketch pad to make sure she was following her original plan, and then she rolled another narrow snake of clay. She stepped back and checked her progress, consulting her drawing yet again, before she pressed the rolled clay into the figure’s neck.
An intricate filigree of ivy and flower stems covered one side of the sculpture’s neck and face. The plant life blended up into the figure’s hair. The lower portion of the filigree transitioned to slender human veins on the shoulder and left breast. Aspen felt the movement of the tendrils, just as she’d hoped. The lower parts were embedded in the person, into its very veins. The upper reaches of vines and flowers were growing and stretching upward, pulling locks of hair with them.
She took a few steps back again, searching for balance points and a continuity of the natural elements as they infiltrated the human. She was completely immersed in her work, but she still was aware of the moment when Heather came along the path and stopped outside the window to watch her. Aspen didn’t acknowledge her at first because she needed to remain focused on the task at hand. The ivy was the most subtle part of her sculpture, but it would be the main focal point. The viewer’s eye would automatically be drawn to the face of the figure first of all, where the patterned stems and the hand clutching them were located. Pam had spent hours with her retreat class, looking at photos of sculptures and paintings as well as actual ones in the local galleries until they were able to spot the center of any work of art. Not the physical center, but the point where an observer would focus before branching out to the edges.
Aspen made some minor adjustments to the curve of stems, extending them a few inches farther around the figure’s neck, like either a noose or a loving embrace. She had never been comfortable with an audience while she worked, but somehow Heather’s presence was unobtrusive and supportive. Maybe she was becoming more used to having others around during her creative process. Since leaving school, where she’d sculpt and draw among other students, Aspen had worked alone. Friends and family saw the finished products but never the work in progress. This week, Pam and the other artists had been with her every step of the way, offering encouragement and suggestions. Some she had taken—especially the ones Pam gave her—and others she considered and rejected. Her ability, her potential was expanding because of the input, whether she acted on it or not. An unexpected and beneficial side effect of the retreat.
Was Heather somehow part of the retreat experience in her mind? Aspen enjoyed feeling Heather’s gaze on her. She liked sharing this intimate and personal process of sculpting with her. She had a feeling her willingness to let Heather in this part of her life—even though she had been as pushy about Aspen’s future as an artist as Pam and others had been—had more to do with her as a woman than as another aspect of the group setting here. Having Heather watch her create brought them closer together, connecting them in a way Aspen hadn’t felt before with her girlfriends. Heather’s presence helped her expand her awareness until she was no longer sculpting for herself but for the connection it created between Aspen and the world around her.
She turned abruptly, pleased with the texture and form of the filigree, and waved at Heather, beckoning her inside. Heather looked surprised to be noticed, as if she thought Aspen was too deep in her work to see anything else but she recovered quickly and came through the studio door.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt you,” she said, standing respectfully far from Aspen and the sculpture. “I was heading to the beach and saw you in here. Once I started watching, I couldn’t stop.”
Aspen grinned at the compliment. She liked having Heather enthralled by her, even if it was just by her work and not her as a person. She gestured at the sculpture. “What do you think? Honest opinion.”
Heather moved closer when Aspen gave her permission, and Aspen appreciated the unwillingness to intrude on her process.
“I love how you’ve created tension here. The bark is solid, the roots on the lower legs are pulling the figure downward, and the ivy is reaching up. The figure is in the center, trying to break free. We have to look at this and ask questions. Should we try to break away from nature? Is it confining, or freeing to be part of the living Earth?”
Aspen wanted to kiss her. She seemed to understand exactly what Aspen had been attempting to say through her mute work.
Heather bit her lip and circled her hand around the neck area of the sculpture. “Are you going to do something more with these stems where they blend into the hair?”
“I have some sculptured flowers I’m going to place here and here.” Aspen went over to a worktable and got a plastic bin. She showed Heather the small irises she had made two days ago, with their fragile beards and arcing petals. “Once I have them in place, I’ll blend them in to the hair so they seem to be part of it.”
Heather nodded. “I like them. They’ll add visual interest up there, and they’ll also make a more interesting profile. The area is beautifully sculpted but a little…”
“One dimensional?” Aspen offered when Heather’s voice trailed off. Heather nodded. “I totally agree,” Aspen continued, her words tumbling out as she found it exhilarating to talk to someone else, especially Heather, about her process and choices. “I was going to sculpt them in relief but the area looked too flat, more like a drawing than a sculpture. So I made them separately and I’ll incorporate them when I’ve finished the ivy and stems. They’ll protrude a little and represent how the figure is almost pulling them free from its body.”
Heather leaned closer to the clay. “The hands are exquisite. I can see every muscle and bone where the human is clawing at the vines. Hands seem to be a difficult body part to get right but you’ve done it beautifully.”
Aspen took Heather’s hand loosely in her own and raised it until it was level with the sculpture’s face. “Recognize them? They’re yours.”
Heather gave her what seemed to be a surprised but pleased look and examined the figure’s hand more closely with hers right next to it. “How did you…? When?”
Aspen squeezed Heather’s fingers, not wanting to let go. “When we went to Tillamook. I watched your hands on the steering wheel. Memorized them. I didn’t even need to sketch them but I carved these to match the image in my mind.”
Aspen didn’t add how many times she had pictured Heather’s hands touching her, caressing her body. Even the act of sculpting them had been an amazingly erotic experience. Aspen had never felt anything like it. She had been tempted to throw this sculpture in the trash and start a full-body one of Heather. If she could be that turned on by carving mere hands, what would molding and forming Heather’s entire nude body do to her? She was almost desperate to find out.
“You’re a gifted artist, Aspen. I feel privileged to have a chance to see this work in progress, like the veil is being lifted for just a moment and I can share your vision. Do you have photos of some of your other sculptures?”
Aspen pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “I have more on my laptop, but here are some. Just swipe through.”
She handed her phone to Heather. She was planning to let her see the pictures without any commentary but she gave in and leaned over Heather’s shoulder, pointing and explaining when and why she had carved each one.
Heather finished looking through the photo gallery, and then she scrolled quickly through them again. “These two aren’t as sophisticated as the others,” she said. “The message is a little heavy-handed, like you were young when you carved them. This one as well, it looks rushed and maybe not the right scale, as if you were low on supplies and in a hurry to manifest your vision. I wish you’d revisit it sometime when you have time and supplies to make it a larger and more imposing piece. The others are gorgeous, though, and give a strong impression of your personal style. They’re easily identifiable as you
rs but each is unique. If you were going to build a portfolio, you should leave the three out and just put in photos of the rest.”
Aspen listened in disbelief as Heather suggested an order for the photos, moving from the simplest to the one with the most visual impact. Would she ever stop trying to make Aspen into the ambitious person she herself was?
Heather gestured at the nearly finished piece. “This one should be first. Hit them with your best work, and then let the rest follow an uphill progression.”
“Well, thanks for the advice, but the most I’ll do as an artist is give my work to someone or sign up for another retreat like this one. I don’t need a portfolio to do either.”
“It’d be a waste of talent, Aspen,” Heather said. “You have a brilliant gift. You shouldn’t keep it hidden away or squander your time and energy on a job that keeps you from expressing yourself fully.”
“I’m not hiding my art,” Aspen said. She felt cornered and heard the edginess in her voice. “I’m sharing it in my own way. It’s my passion, not my livelihood, and that makes it more meaningful, not less.”
“It could be both.” Heather paused and looked intently at Aspen. “You get very defensive whenever the subject comes up. What are you scared of? Compromising your art or taking a chance on being a professional and running the risk of failing?”
“Art isn’t my job,” Aspen repeated more loudly, as if volume would make Heather accept the statement. She was angry, but even in her emotional state she had to recognize the truth behind Heather’s accusations. Who wouldn’t be afraid of turning out their best work, pouring their heart into creating something, and having it rejected by the public? No one criticized a free sculpture. But if they were paying thousands? They’d maybe expect more than she could deliver. She couldn’t admit the truth to Heather, though, and she lashed out instead.
“Don’t try to turn me into you and expect me to set goals of selling so many sculptures a year. Lists and ambition and possessions might be the rewards you chase, but they don’t work for me.”
“Fine,” Heather said in a clipped voice. “Go back home and hide behind your coffee counter. But don’t do it because you worry that being a professional artist would make you materialistic and shallow like you think I am. I found a generic career where I could make progress. I never had a talent to pursue and nurture like you do. You’re actually being more like me when you stay in a job that saps your energy and erodes your soul.”
She turned to leave but Aspen grabbed her arm and held tight. “I never called you materialistic or shallow. I don’t see you like that at all. It’s just—”
“Not everyone can float through life like you want to do, Aspen. Some of us need to have goals and work toward them. And most of us need to feel in control of uncertain futures by saving and investing money. If you want to be an unfettered free spirit, go ahead. But stop using your art as an excuse not to do the hard work your talent requires of you. Being an artist means a hell of a lot more than picking up a sculpting tool and shaping some clay. Just ask Pam. She runs her gallery, connecting people with art. Yes, some of it is commercial, but some is pretty spectacular. She holds these seminars and helps younger artists like you discover new skills and learn how to collaborate. And in between, she works on her own paintings.”
Aspen was surprised to feel the ache of tears in her eyes. She let go of Heather’s arm and took a step back, afraid she’d trip and fall. She admired Pam and had seen her in the studio at all hours of the day and night, whenever she could fit in a spare moment. She was turning blank canvases into pictures full of life and meaning. What had Aspen done? Added a few new swirls to her sculpture’s neck.
“You should have been given this talent,” she said in a whisper. The realization of how she’d squandered her gift and how Heather would have cherished it made her feel queasy. “Just think what you’d have done by now. How many sculptures you’d have sold or shown in exhibits. What a name you’d have made for yourself.”
Heather shook her head and put her hands on Aspen’s shoulders, anchoring her in place and supporting her. “You don’t know that. You couldn’t. I was never encouraged to develop any talents unless they’d help me be a success in some traditional, nine-to-five job. There’s a good chance I’d never have even discovered the skill you so obviously treasure. I might have something like it inside but by now it’s buried too deep to ever uncover. You’ve been freely sharing what you do with other people, and the only reason I keep pushing is because I can see how much more you could do. How many people you could reach with your message, how many questions and new ways of thinking you could inspire.”
Aspen put her hands on Heather’s waist and pulled her into a tight hug. She felt depleted after her flash of anger and her sadness over missed opportunities.
“I’ll never be like you,” Aspen said, her voice muffled against Heather’s shoulder. “You and your lists and your goals. I don’t believe they’ve made you happy but I can see how much you’ve accomplished. I know someday you’ll find the passion you seem to be missing, and I have no doubt you’ll push yourself hard enough to be a great success.”
“Maybe, someday,” Heather said. Her breath ruffled Aspen’s hair when she spoke. “But I have a feeling we’ll both stay the same. Change is hard. I’ll probably go back to Portland and aim toward the next goal at my bank. Work my way up the ladder, step by step, until I’m branch manager or whatever. And you’ll go back to working when you have to and sculpting when you can.”
Aspen closed her eyes as the truth of Heather’s statement burrowed into her. She wanted to deny it but even as she was recognizing the possibility of pursuing art full-time, she was aware of inertia holding her back. She’d need to keep working while she got herself set up as an artist and found her niche. She’d need to have a gallery showing or sell some pieces, and to do that she’d need money for supplies and time to sculpt. To do that, she’d need to work more hours at the coffee shop. The cycle wouldn’t stop, and it would lead her further from her art at every turn.
And their journeys toward unwanted goals would lead them away from each other. Aspen had never really expected her relationship with Heather to be more than an interesting diversion while she was on her retreat. They’d had fun together, and she’d come to understand the depth of Heather’s character in a way she hadn’t anticipated when they first met. But unless they made drastic changes, they’d always want more for each other and never would fully understand why the other person was settling for an unfulfilling life.
Aspen leaned back and brushed her fingers through Heather’s hair. The sensation was as whisper soft, as if she were sifting through downy feathers. “How can you feel so perfect for me sometimes, and completely the opposite of what I need at others?”
Heather laughed quietly and took hold of Aspen’s hand. She kissed her palm and moved her lips along Aspen’s wrist. The spot where Heather’s mouth met Aspen’s pulse point came alive with a jolt. Electricity seemed to travel from her lips into Aspen’s bloodstream, shocking her entire body into a state of arousal.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Heather said. “You should be with someone equally sensitive and passionate, and I should be with a woman with whom I can share my drive and ambition. We’d be much more comfortable. But, damn it, all I want is you.”
Heather kissed her then, and Aspen felt as if an unseen shell of cast bronze had encased her heart and was now broken, releasing her. They had both admitted they were a poorly matched pair but they both were willing to turn away from logic and fear for one moment of togetherness.
*
Heather hurried into the inn with Aspen close behind. She fumbled with the lock on her bedroom door and flung it open, grabbing Aspen by the hand and pulling her inside. Laughing, they fell against the door and it slammed shut with a bang. Heather wrapped her hands in Aspen’s short blond hair and kissed her, meeting Aspen’s tongue with her own and gasping for air when the kiss deepened.
Asp
en’s hands were everywhere on her, with the same tactile intensity she always showed. Cupping Heather’s cheeks, kneading her shoulders like clay, rubbing her back. Heather felt every touch and she was amazed by the various responses Aspen was able to draw out of her. A light, almost ticklish brush of the fingers sent shivers up Heather’s arms and made her hypersensitive to even the movement of the air or the brush of her sweater. Stronger pressure on her shoulders and lower back made her moan in pleasure as knots of tension released. They kissed with the gasping, reaching, groaning need of two people who knew they had only minutes to share before reality separated them again.
Heather gave herself no time for second thoughts. She had already gone through them time and again since meeting Aspen. She was too young, too unmotivated, and too talented for someone staid yet driven like Heather. Aspen would frolic through life never fully activating and managing her talent. The thought made Heather sad, but the choice was Aspen’s to make. Heather had her own demons to slay, and she would do that by pushing herself to ever-evolving goals. Maybe someday one of them would fulfill her…
Right now, though, a temporary fulfillment was within her grasp, and Heather planned to take full advantage of it. Aspen wanted her, too—Heather could feel mutual desire connecting them as they kissed as if their survival depended on air the other could supply. Neither expected more than the immediate present offered them.
Aspen steered her over to the bed, and Heather fell backward onto the mattress with Aspen on top of her. Her hands curved around Aspen’s hip bones, and all their fumbling and kissing and touching settled into a rhythm coming from somewhere inside. This was new territory for Heather. Every step of her life was accompanied by a list. Chores, loans, goals, and things to buy. Plan the work, then work the plan. Now all of Heather’s being was condensed in this one driving, reaching need. She bent her knees and placed her feet on the bed, settling Aspen snugly between her legs. Aspen moved her hips in a thrusting, circular motion. She stretched out fully on Heather’s body, her mouth biting and sucking on Heather’s neck, just below her ear, and her hands curling under Heather’s shoulders. Her fingers dug into Heather’s flesh, and Heather responded by arching even closer.