@laperlina, continued. (x.)
“ I simply had to see the master at work. ”
The smile is all pretense, as never liked the artist’s company much at all. Jaime has something of a self-made renaissance man in him, Oswald thinks; ambition, the talent to pursue it, and a complete, categorical lack of self awareness. Still, he has to admit to a certain fascination with the image of such a loud and exciteable young man leading a drawing class, and a brief look into the matter revealed many beginner artists described good experiences in his studio. Passion is contagious, the therapist supposes, and it makes sense that that of a loud, casual man like Jaime’s would be especially virulent.
It had started a year or so ago, when Oswald first met him - he was a patient then, one of the most unmemorable type. They had similar streaks, artists; burnout, loss of drive, the obvious impostor syndrome. This one was on a sabbatical, his general exhaustion and anxiety having kept him from his work as an art instructor, but things had settled back into a certain normalcy, and they had not seen each other in quite some time. Therapy had only ignited his would-be-genius’ ambitions, however: the man had decided he had become quite knowledgeable on the subject, and had made it quite clear to his once-therapist that the new techniques he had developed would make for great additions to Oswald’s own practices.
The instructor, between greeting the students pouring into his studio, harps on and on about art as therapy, seemingly unaware his guest of honor has already directed his attention to the class itself. Most of the attendees are young - the model is, as well, which he understands is unusual. The sun haloes her in fool’s gold, encasing her where she sits as it would a statue. She would be of marble, he thinks, if not the her hair, loose and black as night, cascading down her silhouette as though drowning out the room’s light.
The therapist sits opposite from the seat he was offered, helps himself to a few sticks of charcoal.
“ Didn’t you say you’d just be watching? ” Jaime asks from across the class.
“ I’ve changed my mind, ” the older man replies, paper rustling as he adjusts his claimed easel. Distractedly, he adds: “ One should study the method firsthand, after all. ”