“It suggests the painting is as it should be. If someone else was supposed to be painting a landscape behind it, the shadow would have needed to be added afterwards.”
“Fascinating.”
“Really?” Corey looks at me. “You don’t need to humour me.”
“I’m not. I thought it was a great painting before but knowing more about it makes it really come alive. Can you tell me stories about every painting in the gallery?”
Corey laughs. “No chance, but I could tell you about a few of them.”
“I’d like that.”
He blushes, the subtle colour spreading across his cheeks and nose like watercolour paint. Speaking of which… I take my rucksack off my shoulder and open it up, pulling out two pads of watercolour paper, two sharpened pencils, a rubber, and two sets of mess-free watercolour paints. I’ve already pre-loaded the brushes with water. Corey frowns as he stares at the assorted items.
“Every time I go to an art gallery, I see people sitting and sketching paintings,” I explain. “I thought we could do the same and then compare the results.”
“I…” Corey begins.
“I know you haven’t painted for pleasure in a while. So if you don’t want to, I understand. I just thought it would be fun, and I’d love to see your interpretation of your favourite painting.”
His blush deepens. “Okay.”
I hand him a pad of paper and a pencil. “I need to warn you that my art teacher in school begged me not to take art, so be kind.”
He chuckles. “I can do that.”
I pick the other pencil up, open the other pad of paper, balance it on my knees, and start to draw. My attempt at drawing a horse is comical at best. Honestly, a three-year-old could do a better job. I sneak peeks at what Corey is doing, marvelling at how he can make a few simple lines actually look like a horse. I move on to using the paint quickly, blotching brown over the paper until my horse looks more like a blob with legs.
“Did I use too much water or not enough?” I wonder out loud.
“Too much paint,” Corey says, glancing at my work. “The beauty of watercolour is that you can layer the colour up gradually.”
“Noted.” My picture is beyond saving, so I tear the sheet off, put it beside me, and start over.
My second attempt at drawing the horse isn’t any better, but I get off to a better start with the painting. I finish my second painting as Corey is just starting to add colour to his sketch. He’s managed to capture the spirit and the energy of the horse, almost as elegantly as the original artist. I flick my gaze between the magic happening on the paper and the look of content concentration on Corey’s face. A smile tugs at his lips and I can tell he’s genuinely happy and relaxed.
I’m not sure how much time passes before he puts the brush down and rolls his shoulders back. It certainly hasn’t felt long because I’ve been utterly lost in watching him work. The gallery is almost empty, which means they’ll be closing soon.
“I haven’t done that in years,” Corey said.
“Painted in the National Gallery?”
He nods. “When I was old enough to come into London on my own, I used to come here most weekends. I’d pick a painting and sit and sketch it. You can learn a lot by copying the techniques of great painters.” He looks at my artwork. “That’s…”
“A disaster?”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Maybe you could teach me how to draw?”
He smiles happily. “I’d like that.”
“Your painting is amazing.”
The blush returns to his cheeks. “It’s not that good.”
“It is. I can tell how much you love the original.” I put everything away except our wet paintings, which we’ll have to carry carefully until they dry. “Did you have fun?”
Corey nods. “Yes, thank you, Daddy. I didn’t know how much I needed to just sit and draw.”
