The Colour of Love

by Preethi Nair

  ‘What? What is it?’ I panicked.

  ‘Aftershave, he’s got to have aftershave, it’s important. We should stop off at Fortnum and Mason and spray something on him.’

  We caught the tube to Green Park and went to spray Rooney with aftershave.

  ‘Remember,’ Gina said, ‘we have absolutely nothing to lose.’

  ‘Right, nothing to lose,’ I repeated seeing images of my dad being carted away by the Mafia.

  My heart raced as we turned into Cork Street. ‘He’s just a client, just a client,’ I kept saying to myself.

  We walked into the main gallery and a middle-aged woman looked at us through her half-moon spectacles and asked how she could help.

  ‘We’re here to see Mr Mangetti. It’s Nina Savani and …’

  ‘Foki,’ she exclaimed getting up from behind her desk. ‘Delighted to meet you. Mr Mangetti is in the office, waiting for you,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Let me show you down there.’

  As her high heels went click, click, click on the parquet floor, my heart began thumping even louder.

  ‘We have nothing to lose,’ I kept saying to myself. ‘It will be fine.’

  As he emerged from behind his desk, Mangetti looked smaller than I had remembered him.

  ‘A pleasure to see you again, Nina,’ he said, shaking my hand.

  ‘Tastudi, this is Foruki and his interpreter, Gina Walker.’

  Tastudi held out his hand. Rooney didn’t take it. My heart began beating even faster and then Rooney bowed down and said something in Japanese.

  Mangetti nodded and smiled and cast his eyes on Gina.

  I introduced them again.

  ‘As I said, Tastudi, Foruki understands English perfectly and he does speak some English but he would just feel slightly more comfortable if his translator is present to answer for him.’

  ‘Can understand but speaking English not very good,’ Rooney said with a strange Japanese accent.

  ‘By all means, an artist always likes to express his work in his own language. Can I get you anything to drink?’

  ‘Water,’ Rooney replied.

  ‘Water is fine for all of us,’ I replied. I needed to sit down, my legs felt as if they were going to collapse if he didn’t invite us to sit down.

  ‘Leticia, some water please,’ he said to the lady. ‘Please take a seat.’ He invited Foruki to take a seat first.

  There were enormous leather chairs that had probably cost a fortune; my dad would have been very impressed. He would be on his route now, shouting at all the customers who didn’t give him the right change.

  ‘I saw your work, Foruki. I’m sure Nina has told you what I thought of it,’ Mangetti began.

  I left thoughts of my dad and focused.

  Rooney paused, looked at me and said to Gina in Japanese, ‘It’s not mine but you believe what you want to. I’m actually a grocer, didn’t think I’d end up being a grocer but there you go, you never know which way life is going to take you.’

  Gina turned to Mangetti and said, ‘She has indeed but I’d like to say that the artist is not the owner of the painting; he does not figure in the painting; he is merely the conduit.’

  That sounded good, we hadn’t rehearsed that. I tried not to catch her eye and kept my gaze on Mangetti, imagining him being delighted with the answers Foruki provided. Mangetti appeared eager to follow up and was leaning forward in his chair.

  ‘Interesting, tell me more,’ Mangetti continued.

  Rooney leaned forward and said in Japanese,‘Well, I had a band. We were touring Europe when my dad died. My mum couldn’t manage on her own, my dad was a bit of a control freak and never let her do anything, so I decided to go back and help her out for a couple of months.’

  Gina translated. ‘When I’m painting, I’m not present. I can’t explain it, it’s the time that I access parts of the self that I never knew existed. It is the only time when I feel the ego to be completely eradicated. At that precise moment in time it’s about the painting. Nothing else exists.’

  This was true; this was what Gina and I both felt. Painting was the only time when both of us felt we were truly ourselves and not pretending to be other people. Mangetti would understand this.

  ‘That comes across. It’s striking how you have managed not to allow your cultural background to permeate your work. I mean obviously the use of space and the flat surfaces would indicate a certain Japanese influence but this is not the overriding impression one is left with; I would go so far as to say that the paintings are unstilted,’ Mangetti responded.

  Rooney paused and then replied, ‘If you had any Japanese influence in the music, we’d only really sell in Japan. I know it’s not all just about being commercial but you have to have some mass appeal.’

  Gina nodded as Rooney gave his answer and turned to Mangetti. ‘This is what I have discovered in Britain and that’s why this particular collection is very close to me. It’s not about being Japanese or British, or Indian for that matter. Art speaks a universal language; it’s about conveying depth of feeling through colour and if at all possible trying to attain a neutrality or sense of peace through colour.’

  Word for word, this is what we had spoken about the night before. It was sounding fluid. Maybe this would be enough to convince him. I searched Mangetti’s face for traces of doubt or hesitation but there was only eagerness to continue the conversation.

  ‘Is that attainable?’ Mangetti asked.

  ‘You’ve got to aim for something.’

  ‘Aren’t we always seeking?’ she translated.

  I thought about interrupting and adding my own thoughts to the discussion but then without being prompted Rooney went off on his own direction. ‘Most blokes would think it’s weird that after all this time I haven’t really achieved anything and I’m still at home. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t think it is the comfort-zone thing, I think if I’m not there my mum wouldn’t manage.’ He touched his heart.

  Gina agreed with whatever Rooney was saying and turned back to Mangetti. ‘This is what my work is about; trying to find balance in an inharmonious world. Trying to find life among death, peace in turbulence and stillness in movement.’

  We hadn’t practised that. I began to worry until Mangetti said, ‘And may I say you have done it admirably. This was exquisitely captured.’

  They were doing really well but it was dangerous for Rooney to go off on tangents, it wasn’t something we had practised.

  Gina waited for him to do something. She glanced at me.

  Nod, Rooney, nod. Please don’t say anything.

  Rooney went off again. ‘Don’t need any admiration for it. If you met her, you’d know exactly why I do it.’

  She translated. ‘Thank you. And then of course there is the social commentary aspect.’

  What social commentary aspect? I thought. I began to panic – stop there.

  ‘Take the buddha painting,’ she continued, giving Mangetti his own spiel about cultural juxtaposition – this is what I told her Mangetti had first said when he initially saw the painting. ‘We live in a society where culture is increasingly becoming fused. I wanted to show that we are able to reach a middle ground, that both are compatible.’

  ‘These are my sentiments and indeed this is what your work conveys. A sense of peace, a sense of understanding. Is that what you would say?’

  ‘You have to understand what your customer wants: apples and pears, kilo there, kilo here, it’s not rocket science, though, maybe it’s the same in art, they want bullshit, give it to them,’ Rooney waved.

  ‘Essentially the work is a search for identity; death being part of that identity, life being part of that identity. Confronting parts of the self that are ugly and transmuting light into them,’ Gina said and then added, ‘Identity is not about ego, and this particular collection – From Obscurity to Light – is the journey I took to realise this. It’s almost as if the ego was left behind and the paintings were done by someone else.’
r />   Gina had a straight face and appeared deadly serious. I wanted to bury my head in my hands; surely he wouldn’t go for it, not after she had said that, he had to know.

  Mangetti leaned further across the table and seemed fully engaged. If the table hadn’t been there to separate them he would have been in Foruki’s lap.

  ‘The handprint and the footprint is the only thing we have to leave; these are the only things that are alive,’ Mangetti added.

  Nod, Rooney, just nod.

  He nodded.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ I thought, ‘We’ve done it.’

  Rooney turned to Gina and said something in Japanese.

  Foruki would like to look at the work upstairs and give you a moment to speak to Ms Savani. This was just as we had rehearsed. As soon as they felt they had done their bit, this was what she had to say.

  Mangetti turned to Rooney and said, ‘I completely understand but there’s something I want to ask you before you leave. Foruki, I am not easily impressed. It’s not often that I come across art like this that completely enraptures me. I want to enter you into the Turner Prize. I know what your objections will be, that you don’t want to be exposed publicly, but please think about it.’

  Rooney nodded and said something in Japanese. If we were asked this question, Gina was going to say that he would need some time to consider it.

  ‘I would consider it an honour,’ Gina replied.

  NO!, I wanted to shout.

  Mangetti appeared delighted. He called Leticia on the buzzer and asked her to come down. ‘Please take Mr Foruki up, he’d like to take a look at De Monte’s work.’

  Rooney bowed before he and Gina went up with Leticia.

  The two of us were left alone in the room together. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to get through the rest of it without Gina and Rooney being there. My legs were shaking and I had to put my hands on my knees to stop them jumping up and down.

  ‘Tell me again, Nina, where else has Foruki exhibited?’ Mangetti asked.

  I was telling myself to breathe and to treat him as if he were any client. ‘Client,’ I said out loud.

  ‘Client?’ Mangetti asked.

  ‘Yes, client.’ How would I explain that outburst? ‘I was just thinking that Foruki is one of the best clients I’ve had. So unpresumptuous, that is what I liked about him when I first met him. Sorry, getting back to your question he’s only exhibited in a few galleries in Japan and, even then, he’s done that anonymously. As I said, exhibitions are not really his thing and he’s only been ready to share his work in the last year.’

  ‘From Obscurity to Light. It was all done this year, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, since he’s been in Britain.’

  ‘And that has been?’

  ‘Nine months,’ I said. After much debate, that is what Gina and I had settled on.

  ‘Marvellous, he is such an original individual.’

  ‘Unique.’

  ‘I thought it would take much more to convince him to be entered into the Turner,’ Mangetti added.

  So did I, I wanted to say.

  ‘What he says about ego, the nature of fame and the search for identity is so valid. Between you and I there has been so much negative press towards the Turner Prize that some of the judges and myself feel that maybe this year it’s important to have a slightly more traditionalist approach. I agree with what you said, it has become all about celebrity, all about hype, so perhaps someone as noncontroversial as Foruki would bring something else to the table.’

  ‘Although he says it’s an honour, I know he would want to retain his anonymity,’ I added quickly.

  Mangetti nodded. ‘It just makes his point even stronger. The critics will have nothing to comment on this year.’

  That was one way of looking at it.

  ‘One more thing, the buddha painting. I’ll give you ten thousand pounds for it.’

  Though I was desperate for the money, I refused.

  ‘Twenty?’

  Twenty thousand pounds would have allowed me to paint for the entire year without worrying. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I admire your integrity,’ he replied. ‘And those other paintings at Artusion which have been earmarked?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Emanuel Hikatari at Artusion,’ I replied.

  ‘Excellent. I would also like to commission Foruki to do a portrait. I’ll call you to discuss the details as there’s somewhere I have to be.’

  Mangetti led me back upstairs. Surely this wasn’t it. It couldn’t be this easy.

  Gina was studying one of the paintings and Rooney was hovering, flitting from one to another.

  ‘He’s into comparison,’ I whispered to Mangetti.

  ‘Foruki, it was an absolute pleasure meeting you,’ Mangetti said walking over to him.

  Rooney bowed his head once again.

  Mangetti thanked me and accompanied us to the door. We walked round the corner of the street and like three lunatics who had managed to escape from an asylum we began laughing. I went over to them and put my arms around each of them.

  ‘You did it, you were both fantastic. Thank you.’

  ‘We did it, I told you it would be a breeze,’ Gina replied.

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to say he would need much convincing to be entered for the Turner, that he would have to think seriously about it.’

  ‘Kinda got carried away there. Anyway, he’s only using Foruki, he’s got his own agenda. If they want noncontroversial, we’ll give them noncontroversial.’

  ‘Can’t believe we pulled it off,’ Rooney said.

  ‘But I thought you didn’t care?’

  ‘I only said that, Nina, because you were nervous and at that time it’s what you needed to hear.’

  I kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Rooney, for everything.’

  The paintings had all sold at Artusion. Emanuel Hikatari was delighted with the response and after the gallery had taken their cut I collected a cheque for £25,000.

  ‘Dad, twenty-five thousand pounds,’ I put this in first so he would listen to the rest of my sentence. ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds, that’s how much my paintings sold for.’

  He slammed the phone down.

  We had dinner with Rooney and Mrs Onoro later that evening and I handed Rooney a cheque for £2500.

  ‘Just for being Foruki?’ Mrs Onoro asked in disbelief.

  ‘There’s more to it than just being Foruki,’ I answered. ‘Rooney was fantastic.’

  ‘Rooney available to be him any time. No, Rooney?’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Well if we get short-listed for the Turner, and that is a really big if, we’ll need him again, but for now it’s all over, thank God.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the money?’ Gina asked him.

  ‘Buy a new guitar, maybe, then I’ll start practising again. I’ve been putting it off with excuses of no money.’

  ‘Well if you ever want to do a gig let me know because on Thursday nights the restaurant I work at has live music and I can have a word with the boss,’ Gina said.

  ‘Rooney, he do it,’ Mrs Onoro volunteered.

  Just as we were leaving Mrs Onoro took me to one side.

  ‘You good girl, Nina, you good to give Rooney a chance. He got confidence back,’ she said glancing at him.

  ‘I didn’t do that, he did; he was the one that gave me a chance.’

  ‘You see he think I need him, I think he need me. Maybe I tell him about Hikito.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea.’

  She hugged me as we left and I didn’t want her to let me go as it had been ages since I felt that secure; they were like my family. ‘You come soon?’

  ‘I will,’ I replied.

  As Gina and I made our way home she said, ‘He’s asked me to a concert on Sunday evening.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told him yes.’

  One thing that has always been exceptionally hard for me to do is to let go, but th
en all the people who I loved the most were taken from me so I had no choice but to learn to let go. This time I wanted it to be different, I wanted it to be my decision and as much as I wanted to avoid the feelings of loneliness, it was time to stand on my own two feet and leave the warmth and security that Gina provided. With the money from the exhibition I decided to rent a studio and a flat of my own so I told her this once we had got home. Gina didn’t want me to leave and said we could share both the flat and studio, but as much as I wanted to stay it was time to move on.

  She helped me look and within a few weeks we had found both. The flat had one bedroom and it was just around the corner from Gina, and the studio was a converted warehouse in Shoreditch, split on two levels: downstairs was where I could stock all the materials and upstairs was where I saw myself painting. It was much bigger than I needed it to be and much more expensive but it felt right because I knew I would be spending most of my time there.

  There was hardly anything to pack but Gina came with me to buy more paints and canvases for my new studio and helped me set up.

  ‘This is for you,’ I said as she was leaving, handing her an envelope.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Two thousand pounds.’

  ‘I can’t take this.’

  I had to insist that she take it.

  ‘Oh Nina,’ she said hugging me, ‘it was never about the money. It was about breaking the mould and we did that.’

  ‘I know, but none of this would have happened without you.’

  Gina had once said that when you did something out of the ordinary, extraordinary things began to happen. The other thing she taught me was – and I don’t know exactly how this one works, but – once you begin to see potential in someone else, even if they don’t see it, they evolve into the person you envisaged them to be.

  She was right.

  After Gina went I was left alone in my studio and though I should have felt excited at the thought of being completely independent, I didn’t. I had this huge pang of loneliness and sadness; it was as if she had taken everyone I had ever loved with her and left me alone with a gaping blank canvas. I thought about what I’d done to Raj and his family, to my mum and dad – all of that was because I was scared to be me, to show them who I was in case they didn’t love me any more. Then I thought fleetingly about Jean Michel, how I could forgive him now for his mistake but things for us had moved on.