“I was kind of an ass, too. I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve been flattered that you liked my painting that much,” he said.
“I did. Just like I’ve liked your floral designs.”
He turned to me, smiling almost shyly, but with real joy. His mood had completely changed again. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was thesparkDr.Johnston had talked about. “You have another ruler and pencil?” I asked. “I can help.”
We worked together to finish penciling in the triangles and then started painting some of them in the lightest blue, using Rowan’s picture as a guide. Now that I knew what it was supposed to be, I totally saw hydrangeas. Specifically, blue hydrangeas in the fall, when the cornflower-blue clusters of petals darkened to a dusty purple. But of course, two weeks ago I didn’t know what hydrangeas were.
“Do you paint flowers a lot?” I asked, carefully filling in a triangle with a slim brush. This was kind of soothing. My school offered amazing painting classes, but I hadn’t taken them. My schedule was all math, sciences, photography, and fashion design. And figure drawing, which was where I’d learned to draw the people wearing the clothes I designed.
“Nah, this was just for my grade-twelve art project. We were supposed to do a large-scale installation that matched its surroundings. Flowers for the nursery made sense to me. I didn’t anticipate that it would become a magnet for selfie-starved tourists, though.”
“I wasn’t the first Instagrammer who admired your work?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“So, what do you have against influencers, anyway?” I probably should have asked this question before now.
He didn’t look away from the painting. “They wreakhavocon the nursery, using it for their own purposes with no appreciation for the plants themselves. I’ve had to pick up wine cans and water bottles from the fields so many times. Once a group used these colored smoke bomb things for their pictures. The lawn mower was bright pink for weeks. And they always have super-entitled demands, like they want free stuff forexposure.”
“Not all influencers are so self-absorbed.”
“C’mon. It’s in the definition. They want toinfluencepeople. They want topersonallybe relevant. Influencers are self-absorbed by design.”
It was hard to disagree with him because plenty of influencers were just like what he was describing. Hell, my own ex-boyfriend was so desperate to be in that club that he cheated on me. And I myself hadwreaked havocat the nursery while trying to get a picture for my Instagram.
“But don’t you want influence, too?” I asked, dipping my brush into the small yogurt cup of paint. “Why paint murals, or enter flower design competitions, or even go to school for...what was it...landscape architecture, if you don’t want to influence people?”
Rowan kept painting, but he seemed to consider what I was saying. “I guess I want to influence people with my creations,” he said, “not for me personally. Influencers want recognition for themselves, for who they are, not for what they make.”
I shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, but whatever they create, or the pictures they post, or even what they choose to wear, is a reflection of themselves. Art reflects the artist, so why separate them? I mean, now that I’ve seen how much I love your painting, I see you differently.”
He smiled and actually blushed a little. “Trying to butter me up for something, Thirst Trap?”
I wasn’t, but I couldn’t deny that smile was its own reward.
“Anyway,” I said, “in my field, fashion design, the artist is as important as the art. A bunch of emerging designers I follow on YouTube talk about how important platform and connections are. They put a lot of effort into curating their social media presence. Even Nilusha Bhatt—she’s my mentor—her Instagram feed is as much about her life as her clothes. She literally sells sweatshirts that sayBHATTacross them, so people know who she ispersonally.”
“But what part of you do you really want out there? The art or the artist? Do you want people excited about your actual creations, or doyou just want everyone wearing clothes because your name is plastered across them?”
“Well, not my last name. Janmohammad is too long.” I tilted my head. “I’m thinking of calling my line House of Tahira—and even made up some pieces with the acronym HOT appliquéd on them.”
“Ah. That’s why you were wearing that shirt the second time I saw you. It wasn’t just to broadcast your attractiveness.”
What? Did Rowan just call me hot? I shook my head. “The point is, theartistsells the art as much as the medium or the quality these days. You can’t separate them. Influencers have learned that.”
“Not always. Everyone loves their gardens but no one knows the names of the top garden designers in the world. Except other landscape architects.”
“Well, that’s how it is in fashion. Whether I like it or not is irrelevant.”
He blew out a puff of air. “I guess I’m not cut out for fashion, then. But you have to admit, a lot of influencers are terrible.”
I nodded. “Horrendously terrible. Starting with a certain Italian ex-boyfriend. Also, those people beheading roses and leaving garbage everywhere? They’re not terrible because they’re influencers; they’re terribleandthey’re influencers. Truly great multitasking.”
Rowan laughed as he swirled his brush in a pot of water.
After a short break, we moved to the darker-blue triangles. The store got busy a few times, so I had to stop painting and help Shar with customers. At seven, when it was time to close, the painting was only about halfway done. I offered to Rowan that I could stay to help him finish it, figuring we could also use the time alone with no customer interruption to discuss our design for the Bloom.
But first, we stepped out to get some pizza slices from the shop down the street after Shar left. We ate standing at the counter in the store.
