Artists in the Residence

“Hey!” Tiffany protests. “Have you ever seen any of his exhibitions? I think it’s inspiring, how he turns other people’s waste into something valuable.”

Holly laughs at that.

“But he doesn’t, does he?” she says. “Claude, when’s the last time you sold one of your pieces for more than a million dollars, or even a hundred thousand? Oh, that’s right. You haven’t.”

“Must I have, for my work be considered valuable? Did Van Gogh or Gauguin ever sell any art for a fraction of those prices you mentioned?” I shoot back, undaunted by Holly’s strange desire to show me up.

“At least they stuck to their artistic visions, labouring under obscurity, staying true to themselves. They didn’t sell themselves out, or whatever it is that you’re trying to do here tonight,” Holly says.

Ah, so there it is. The reason for her animosity. How does one so beautiful end up so twisted inside? That’s something I’ve never figured out for myself.

To my surprise, it’s Holly’s daughter that speaks up for me next.

“Claude’s work is better than half the work that you’ve acquired, mom,” Elianne says. “He actually knows how to play with form, to get people to think. Most of what you buy is just gaudy showpieces meant for the nouveau rich.”

“Elianne!” Holly barks, giving her daughter a chilling look. “Just because you lack a certain… worldliness and sophistication, that doesn’t mean that you know everything there is to know about art. The pieces I buy are showy, yes, but they contain depth—something complex under the surface to make you think after that initial impressive reaction.”

To my surprise, Elianne laughs at statement.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you’ve just described Claude’s work to a tee,” she says. “Weren’t you the one who told me a couple years back that you were considering acquiring one of Claude’s pieces?”

“I passed on it for a reason,” Holly says, injecting a note of finality in her voice, and Elianne falls silent, though a knowing smirk continues to play across her lips.

But the conversation doesn’t end there.

“Oh, I remember that,” Salome pipes up. Holly and Hyerim instantly fix on her, shooting her twin glares, but she carries on, oblivious. “This was the painting of the empty aquarium! You were saying that you liked the way it made you pause and reconsider the way you viewed animal captivity. And then you decided to pass on the painting, because you said you were scared that it would be too nuanced for a visitor to understand in such a short period of time. Wasn’t this the piece that was recommended by—”

“Let’s serve the next dish,” Hyerim says, cutting Salome off. “Bring out the soup, please.”

There’s a shuffle as the wait staff head back into the kitchen, carrying out the emptied plates of duck. They emerge from the kitchen a moment later with bowls of dark broth. The deep, rich aroma that wafts up from the double consommé opens up my appetite again, despite all the food that I’ve consumed already.

As most of us begin to start on the soup, Salome instead turns to face me.

“I quite liked that aquarium painting,” she says. “What was it called again?”

“Poisson Distributed,” I say, internally groaning at the pun. Who came up with this shit? “And I’m glad you liked it. I know my art’s not for everyone.”

I glance at Holly.

“One could certainly say that,” she says. “But I’ll drop the matter. So long as everyone is clear with what your intentions are, you leech.”

“This is not how we treat our guests,” Father says, finally speaking up. He directs his powerful gaze at Holly.

She visibly shrinks back in her seat, opening her mouth, thinking the better of it, and then shutting it again.

“My apologies, Claude. Needless to say, my daughter’s umbrage towards you is not a sentiment shared by the rest of us,” my Father says, something twinkling in his eyes as he glances at Hyerim afterwards.

His eldest surviving wife (or ex-wife, technically speaking) fastidiously ignores him, staring straight ahead and into Elianne’s eyes. The young lady returns the look with impassivity, silently spooning another mouthful of soup.

Things are going on around this table, and I’ve been separated from this family for so long that I’m not sure I’m catching everything that’s going on.

“That’s right!” Salome chirps. She runs a hand through her brunette hair, flicking it behind her ear, and then she smiles at me. “I’ve always wanted to learn to paint. But I’ve never found somebody who would be willing to teach a total beginner.”

“I don’t typically give lessons,” I smile back. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

“You’re not seriously going to take lessons from someone like him, are you?” Hyerim says to Salome. “I’m sorry, Claude, but you’re not exactly known for your technique, and you’ve never taught anyone art before. I’m not sure the fit is right.” The Korean beauty turns back to Salome. “We could find you someone trained in the Classical style, Impressionism, anything that you’d be interested in picking up.”

“But what I like about Claude’s work isn’t the brushwork or any of the technical details like that,” Salome says. “It’s his artistic flair, the creativity in his pieces. I think that’s what I’d like him to teach me.”

I smile broadly at that, leaning back in my seat, and Tiffany gives me a happy smile. I know she’s put in a good word to her mom for me a couple times, but I’d never imagined that it could lead to something like this…

“I would have turned you down if you wanted a masterclass in impressionism,” I laugh. “But I would love to get the chance to work with you.”

My Father, looking thoughtful all the while, clears his throat.

“If there are no objections, we could invite you to be an artist-in-residence around here for a couple months. You could work closely with Salome, and we’d provide accommodation and a small stipend, alongside the typical commission that we’d pay for any pieces that you’d produce,” he says.

“I wouldn’t be comfortable with the arrangement,” Holly says. “Look, I apologize for my behaviour earlier—” though she doesn’t seem particularly apologetic to you “—but I am in charge of the arts in this family of ours. And much as I might enjoy your work, I wouldn’t want to give it such a tangible endorsement. It just doesn’t speak to me enough, do you see?”

“The Najbreits have had two or three artists-in-residence over the years, haven’t you?” I say. “And haven’t they all been fairly successful?”

Holly frowns, saying: “The latest one was years ago. At least a decade or two has passed since then.”

“Exactly,” I say. “You were, I’m guessing, something like ten or fifteen years old back then?”

She was thirteen, but Claude probably wouldn’t know it to that precision.

“What’s your point?” she questions, though her eyes narrow, sensing the trap.

“All I’m saying is that, I find it likely that somebody else was responsible for picking the artists-in-residence back then. If I had to guess, it was your Father. I would trust his taste if I were you.”

It is, of course, a risky gamble to stake the outcome of this decision on Father’s approval, which has been a fickle thing at the best of times. But I have the advantage of knowing what actually went on behind the scenes all those years ago, knowing that Father is a massive art fiend, a sucker for the kind of compositions that Claude Ashworth creates. Mr. Samuel did well in selecting an identity for me.

“But he doesn’t…” Holly begins, before she turns to face her Father. “You would be willing to endorse his work?”

“I enjoy it,” he says, an entertained smile crossing his face. “I’ll admit that knowing his work made me that much more willing to consider Claude’s plan, when I first heard about it. So yes, I’d say that I’d be willing to endorse it.”

Holly has nothing to say to that.

“So it’s settled then?” Salome says, sounding all too eager, a bright smile on her face.

“Draw us up something over the next few days, will you, Claire?” Father says.

“I’ll work with Claude and Salome to sort out something reasonable,” she agrees, and then she smiles at me, batting her eyelashes a couple more times than strictly necessary.

“I’m glad that's been settled. Let’s move on to dessert,” Hyerim says tightly, and then the wait staff are off again, clearing the table and setting it up for something delicious that is sure to follow.