“It’s fine.” Jae drops his mop in a bucket. “So, I guess I’ll show you around you as part of your orientation. The official tour if you will.” I follow him as he walks towards the back. The restaurant is L-shaped with the sushi bar at the base of the L.
“The bathroom and my office are that way.” He points to a long dark hallway.
“Kitchen is here. Don’t come in unless you have non-slip shoes.” Jae points to a set of swinging double doors.
I nod my head in agreement. “Non-slip shoes. Kitchen. Got it.”
We retrace our steps towards the front of the restaurant. He points to the long blank wall I suspected would be the mural canvas. “This is where I want the mural to go. You can use this entire wall. Just don’t get paint on the floor or the bench. I already have tarps and a step ladder in the back of the kitchen.”
My height is no match for a twelve-foot ceiling, unfortunately. His grin is infectious, and Ialmostwant to smile back at him, as if it weren’t 7 o’clock in the morning.
“Thanks. I’m going to get started with primer and sketching the design. Should I get the tarps?” I ask him.
“I’ll get them. You don’t have non-slip shoes.” He glances down at my red sneakers. He disappears behind the double doors,swishingandswooshingbehind him.
I grab the primer out of my painting bag, and a large roller. I take my pencil case out and set it on the table in front of me. I size up my canvas.
First, there’s crown molding at the top by the ceiling. That takes at least a foot off the canvas. The bench is about three feet up on the wall. Does he want me to paint under the bench? We’d have to remove it. This is way smaller than I anticipated. I’d really have to scale down my idea to make it fit. I’d probably have to cut the top part of the landscape…or the bottom part. Or both.
Jae returns, a stack of tarps over one shoulder, the step ladder in the other arm. He now has his sleeves rolled up, showing off a set of black and gray traditional American tattoos. A set of kitchen knives on the left and a sharp rose on the right. For a moment, I am utterly distracted and unable to deliver my bad news.
Why am I even noticing him?! I kick myself internally. Focus on the art.
“So, we have a bit of a problem,” I start, trying to work up my confidence. “I don’t really have a twelve by six canvas here, like your email said. Your bench cuts off at the three-foot mark, and your crown molding cuts off at about the eleven-foot mark.” I show Jae my measurements using my tape measure.
“I could paint under the bench, but no one would see it, and you risk it getting scuffed by feet. Additionally, we’d have to remove this whole bench or risk the continuity of thepainting. And I don’t think you want me painting over the crown molding.”
Jae looks like I just smacked him. He is not my first clueless client, and I doubt he’ll be the last. Luckily, the ball is in my court with this. I push the image of his forearms out of my head. Scram. I remove my sketch from my sketchbook and fold down the first inch, and the bottom three inches. “It’ll look more like this if we account for this main area here,” I say, waving my hand towards the bulk of the empty wall above the bench.
Jae looks at the sketch, his brow furrowed.
“Who measured this space for you?” I ask him, trying to parse out information about how the measurements got so misconstrued.
“My younger sister. She’s seventeen,” Jae answers. He sets the stack of tarps on the floor and holds the folded sketch up to the wall.
“Well, as I see it, we have two options. Cut off a foot at the top for the molding and remove the bench. Or remove both. Or just do a smaller mural.” I tell Jae, crossing my arms. I hope that this entire project is not a series of me asking to make changes due to his poor planning.
“What do you recommend?” he asks me, appearing to genuinely want my opinion.
“I recommend doing the smaller mural. I can make it more detailed to make up for the loss of space,” I tell him. “I am still confident in my ability to do a nice mural. You don’t want people’s shoes on it.”
“Let’s do what you think is best,” he says. “I trust you to make the right decision. You’re the artist. Clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Jae laughs at his own misfortune. “Let me know when you want to take a break.”
Taking a break hadn’t even crossed my mind before suggesting we cut the size of the painting. What’s wrong with me?His tattooed forearms, that’s what’s wrong with me.
“I’m going to start now.” I take a glance at him once he’s back to mopping, facing away from me. Good god damn, he’s even got a nice ass, too. Focus.
I’m pouring primer in a tray and getting my roller in hand after covering the bench with tarp, and before I know it Jae turns his music back on so we don’t have to work in silence. We work quietly in tandem. I draw a new, shorter version of the mural in my sketchbook. He mops. Jae approves the new mural while I wait for the primer to dry. He sets the tables. I take out my pencil case and decide on a pencil.
“Where did you go to school?” He asks me, sitting down at one of the nearby tables.
“The School of Visual Arts. I studied fine studio art.” I say absentmindedly, concentrating on my pencil strokes.
“How long have you been painting?” Jae asks, his interest seeming genuine.
“As long as I can remember.” I erase a stray mark, shavings falling to the bench below.
“Where’d you grow up?” He asks another question.
