Page 20 of Crystal Iris #1

Seventeen

“It is a widely accepted notion among painters that it does not matter what one paints as long as it is well painted. This is the essence of academicism. There is no such thing as good painting about nothing.” – Mark Rothko

T he sun shines bright on my first day back from spring break, too bright.

I haven’t left my apartment in days. I can still hear Aaron’s words as the glass shattered.

The sound is stuck in my head, keeping me up at night, all night.

I don’t know how to move forward; everything feels harder.

Even the simplest things, like showering and eating.

Akira came by a few times after I told her what happened.

I haven’t spoken a word to anyone else—not to Aaron, and especially not to Hoyt.

I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it.

I’m feeling everything all at once: sadness, fear, anger, relief, and shame.

“Good morning,” Akira says from the campus entrance, coffees in hand.

“I don’t deserve you,” I tell her, taking my first glorious sip.

“I know,” she replies with a smile.

I smile back. A faint one, but I do.

“One day at a time, okay?” she says when we part ways.

“One day at a time.”

I’m on my third slide when Jack asks, “Was this influenced by Ancient Egyptian sculptures?”

“Yes, we have a great example of that kind of sculpture here in the MFA in Boston, of the pharaoh Menkaure and his wife. Iconography means exactly that—investigating the visual signs in works of art. Let’s take a look at Melencolia I by Dürer.

It’s possible that the winged woman could be the personification of melancholia.

Or perhaps she represents creativity, moments before inspiration strikes.

There are a few different theories regarding it.

We see a rainbow in the sky, and I believe this here.

.. is a planet. This print is known for its hidden curiosities.

For example, the radius of the sphere in front of the dog has the same measurement as the distance marked by the compass. Who’s heard of the Seven Liberal Arts?”

“Grammar, rhetoric, logic, music, geometry, arithmetic, and astronomy,” Flora says proudly.

“Thank you, Flora. Geometry was considered vital to the creation of high art. We see in this engraving many symbols related to it, as well as to alchemy, including the compass, the hourglass, the scale, the sphere, and the polyhedron. Geometry and melancholia are both governed by the planet Saturn, which might be the planet we see in the back.”

“My father always says melancholic people are the most likely to succumb to insanity,” Jack says. “He’s a psychologist.”

“That’s an interesting idea, Jack. Melancholy was associated with genius and creativity in the Renaissance.

I can see how these rare gifts could be linked to madness, especially when one is striving for perfection.

There are three realms of genius: imagination is the first, followed by reason and spirit.

Perhaps the number one in the title refers to the first realm. ”

I’m happy to teach, to talk about art, and answer all the questions. It’s almost dark when I leave campus. Work has always helped me during troubled times, and today is no different. I dove into writing a paper between classes merely to keep my brain busy. It’s time I focus on my career again.

I’m looking for a book in one of my half-packed boxes when my phone buzzes. Hoyt is calling me. I ignore it. Again. I read until my eyes are too heavy to stay open.

“Who do you think she is?” I ask my students the next day.

“The goddess Venus, as the title says,” Alec says, chewing gum.

“Isn’t she a young bride?” Stella asks.

“She’s nobody, just an idealized female,” says Mila with distaste.

“You’re all correct. Historians can’t agree.

There have been enough theories about this woman, including the ones you brought up, as well as that she could be a courtesan or a mistress.

Titian combined many of those identities in this painting, which makes it hard to know for sure who she was meant to be.

No mention of who she really was has been found.

This is a seductive painting; the red pillows signal her passion.

Painters looked to poetry for inspiration about love, beauty, and lust. And with Venus being the goddess of love, sexuality, fertility, and beauty, the title makes sense. ”

I’m putting my things away when Stella comes to see me.

“Can I help you with anything, Stella?”

She looks so young in her hooded sweatshirt. Or am I just getting older?

“I was wondering… if you had… any advice for me.”

“With regard to what?”

“I’m torn between art history and actual art classes. ”

“What kind of art do you make?” I ask, pointing to the canvas in her bag.

“Oil.”

“And do you love it? Painting?”

“I really do. I can’t live without it. It’s my escape.”

“I don’t think it needs to be either-or for now. Keep going with both for a while longer, until you know for sure.”

“I’m… I’m afraid—well, my parents are—that I won’t make any money with art.”

“I see. I won’t lie to you, being an artist is hard. Harder than being a teacher when it comes to a steady income. However, just because something is hard doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Do you think I’d be... giving up or selling out? If I only do my art on the side?”

“I definitely don’t. A lot of the painters I talk about here had patrons; most portraits were commissions. And they painted what they wanted on the side, too. Everyone has bills to pay.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to look back and have regrets.”

“Take your time making this decision. I know it feels like you need to choose now, but you don’t.”

“Thank you, I will… continue with both for now then.”

“See you Thursday.”

I meet Akira for lunch.

“Hoyt called me,” she says, piling books on the table.

“He did?”

“Yeah, he’s worried about you.”

I look at her. “I need... time. I can’t... I don’t want to talk to him right now. I need to figure out my life. He makes things... difficult.”

“I get it. Time is good, space is good.”

“Did you tell him about what Aaron said, regarding the money?”

“I did. I thought he should be… aware.”

“Yeah, I should have told him.”

“He already knew. He said he knew since he met you that having his money with Aaron’s firm would end up badly.”

“And why did he keep it there?”

“I think they’re in the middle of deals. He can’t back away now.”

“He never told me about the money.”

“You guys will need to talk about it… and everything else, too.”

“One day. What are you working on?” I pick up a book from her pile.

“A theory concerning drivers of galaxy growth and their evolution, from webs of gas that feed them to the formation of stars.”

“That sounds… fun,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich.

“I don’t do anything that isn’t fun.”

I laugh at her. “I want to be you when I grow up.”

At least tell me where to send the vase you left here, Hoyt’s text reads that evening.

I pick up my phone and type: It was meant to be a thank-you gift. For the hospitality. I forgot about it.

Thank you. Any suggestions on where I should put it?

I know he’s only trying to make conversation now. Dining table?

My house does need a… woman’s touch.

I don’t reply. I put my phone away and take a sip of my wine. I need motivation. It’s time I start unpacking.

I’m opening another box, singing along to a cheesy song, when I glance at my phone again. Even though part of me wants to be left alone, it’s hard to stop checking for messages .

Is Aaron sick? I read Lara’s message.

I don’t know. Why?

He hasn’t been to work all week.

I stop my music. I’ve been trying not to let myself wonder about how he’s doing. Can you ask... Ted to check on him? We broke up.

Sure. I’m sorry to hear, Iris.

Thanks, let me know when he does, please.

I empty my wine glass in the sink. My headache is back.

I am exhausted from the lack of sleep. I make a mental note to ask for a sleeping pill prescription. At least today, I only have a field trip. I’m looking forward to the change of pace.

I meet the students by the new exhibition, Visiting Masterpieces: Caravaggio and Connoisseurship.

“I planned this class because I knew this exhibit was coming to our city. We are very lucky to be in front of four paintings that have never been seen in Boston before,” I explain.

“It says here that they don’t know if these are real Caravaggios,” says Liam.

“Right, this one”—I point toward the painting of a boy having his palm read by a Romani girl—“it’s probably a true Caravaggio.”

“This one”—I gesture toward the portrait of a member of the Order of Knights of Malta—“it’s very possibly his too.”

“And these other two?” asks Stella.

“Still debatable.”

“What is the Order of Knights of Malta?” asks Christine.

“It’s a religious order, considered a sovereign entity under international law. They used to require their members to be of noble lineage, but they’ve changed things nowadays. I believe their current role is to help with international humanitarian relations.”

“Caravaggio is one of my favorites,” says Gil .

“Mine too. This exhibition provides us with an opportunity to examine his talented hand and to debate what made him so well-known.”

“Caravaggio is his last name, right?” asks Liam.

“Actually, that’s his nickname,” says Gil.

“Right, his actual name is Michelangelo Merisi. Caravaggio is the name of the town he’s from.”

“He is a murderer,” says Christine.

“He did kill a man and lived in exile because of it,” I tell them.

“The best artists have dark shadows,” says Gil.

“Of course you would think that,” says Christine, stepping away from him toward Liam.

“Why are you taking this class again?” Gil asks her.

“It was the only one that fit with my schedule,” she replies.

I try to defuse the argument. “Okay, let’s move on to Saint Francis in Meditation here.”