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Cedric hit it off with the influencers and has probably just sealed his fate: to be solely responsible for our social media accounts now. My speech went well, and the TV interviews went even better. Lynn always convinces me to do them, claiming my quiet, composed way of delivering my lines always gets to the audience.

She calls it an air of mystery.

I call it being bad at conversation.

But whatever helps. If it works, it works, and that’s all that matters.

Now that the place is buzzing, not only with spectators and artists, but also potential clients are roaming the gallery to spot artworks they like and might want to buy from the artists, I have time to roam the halls as well. I’ve seen most of these artworks in print already, but it’s different to see them in real life. It’s always different.

There is a niche for each artist we are showing, each one getting to present a maximum of three pictures or artworks. It’s obvious there are plenty of talented folks. On every new exhibition of this kind, I look around the paintings, not as the gallerist but as a client. It’s been a while since I mentored an upcoming artist. When I spot a piece of art that just strikes me, I usually reach out to the artist or their manager and make sure to support them.

It hasn’t happened for a while, though. All of these people are talented, clearly so, but nothing strikes my own muse. And for me to step up and truly support someone, beyond showing their artwork here, it has to be special to me.

I am about to go to the restroom for a break, because again, I don’t find anything that jumps out at me, when I pass the last hall. It’s a smaller one, for artists who only show one piece of art each. That’s when I seeit!

A huge picture, a single work of the artist, is presented in the middle of the room. I need to compliment my curator and coordinator for this; he truly knew how to put the spotlight on it. The sole color used in the picture in all its shades is blue, giving it a melancholic feel. The motive of the artwork is a young man sitting at the edge of a bathtub. His back is turned to the spectator, his fingers dangling in the water. He is naked, only loosely wrapped in a towel. We only see him from behind, but even without seeing his face and eyes, there is somethingvulnerable about him. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? Is he sad? Are tears dripping down his face? It’s not posed. It’s a snapshot, a glimpse of a moment. The man’s back is slightly hunched over, and he seems to be thinking, pondering.

It's a glimpse into his soul. The model has a soul, so does the artwork.

My eyes move to the small plate next to the artwork, where the artists usually provide details and explanations of their work.

There are none, just basic information.

Title: Shades of Blue or Man From Behind

Artist: Sterling Thomas, 27 years old. New freelance artist.

The price tag below shows that someone else knows the artwork’s worth, too. Probably Sterling Thomas’s manager. It’s high, but not unreasonable. But even if it were too expensive, I know I would have bought it nevertheless.

A couple of hours later, I officially hold it in my hands. I will keep it presented in the exhibition, but once it’s officially over, I will be hanging it in my living room for everyone to see.

*STERLING*

“Hey, Sterlone, are you here?” my manager, Mateo, yells through the whole apartment until I put my brush aside and finally pay him attention. He is using that silly nickname again. A while back he was into action movies and thought callingme Sterlone would give me an edge. Mateo moved on from his action movie phase, but the nickname stuck.

“What?” I mutter, trotting out of my atelier and into the living area. I own a loft with an adjacent room that I have remodeled into an atelier. I was lucky enough to have inherited it from my grandma.

“Did you get my call?” Mateo asks. His dark hair looks disheveled, and he looks tired as fuck.

“No, sorry, my phone was on silent.”

“Then you probably haven’t read my messages either?”

“No.”

Mateo drops down on the chair with a sigh, his legs almost too long for the chair. It’s a recurring problem for him. He is too tall for everything. Tall and skinny, and he hates it. I think it suits him. Very modelesque from an artist’s viewpoint. “You are driving me insane.”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah.” His gaze follows me. “You have been painting?”

“Recently, my muse seems to be coming to me. Noel is a great help, too.”

Mateo stretches. “He modeled for you again?”

“Yes, he was in the mood. But you know him. When he is sulky or broody, there is no chance of getting him to hang around for hours. Or rather, he would and push through it, but it’s not the same then.”

“He has always been like that,” Mateo chuckles. “Glad he is more grounded now, though. You helped him a lot to deal with his issues.”