At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [48]
Noah looked at him speculatively for a moment. “I ain’t no dummy, you know.”
Derrick lifted an eyebrow. “I never imagined you were.”
“Lindsay could’ve showed you this place by herself, instead of telling me to.”
“True enough. Why do you suppose she didn’t?”
He shrugged. “So’s you could look at my stuff and tell me if it’s any good.”
“Don’t you imagine she could tell you that herself ?”
“She tells me it’s good all the time.”
“Don’t you believe her?”
“She’s my teacher. She’s supposed to say I’m good.”
“I wish I’d had teachers like that when I was in school. I recall several essays that were returned with comments that were very far from good.”
Noah said, “You know what I mean. She’s supposed to encourage me. That’s her job.”
Derrick nodded. “Whereas I am supposed to be an objective expert.”
“So?” Noah demanded. “What do you think? Do you like my drawings or not?”
Derrick turned and took his time studying the charcoals that were displayed, the pastels, a few experiments in oil.
“I like this one,” he said at last, choosing a charcoal of the border collie in an attack crouch, teeth bared, fur wild. “And this one.” He pointed to a pastel of the sheep meadow, patchy with snow, and a lone muddy sheep standing in a far corner. “But this is by far your best.”
He indicated the eight-by-ten oil on art board that Noah had just completed as part of a class assignment using the glass plates Lindsay had found in the loft. This was a monochrome detail of one of the plates featuring a fountain in the rose garden. He had added, in the background, a deer wandering down the garden path, daintily nibbling on rose blossoms.
Noah said with interest, “Oh yeah? You want to buy it?”
Derrick replied, “No.”
Noah’s first surprise was quickly replaced with a belligerent scowl. “Why not?”
“Because your first question should have been, ‘What do you like about it?’ instead of ‘What is it worth?’ An artist has to be sensitive to what the viewer sees.”
“That’s bullshit.” Shoving the earbuds back into his ears, Noah turned toward the door.
Derrick said, “Maybe. But I’m the expert.”
Noah jerked open the door, took one step through it, and then turned around. He came back inside, closing the door with perhaps a bit too much force, and jerked the headphones out of his ears. “Okay. So what do you like about it?”
Derrick turned back to the painting and spent a careful moment in contemplation before he answered. “It’s alive. It has depth and emotion, just like the sketch of the dog, and the pastel of the meadow with the one muddy sheep in the corner. It tells a story, and draws me in.”
Noah, hands shoved deep into his pockets, affected indifference. But Derrick cast a sidelong glance at him without turning, and gauged the intensity of his interest. “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to see your work hanging in my gallery one day . . . if we could come to terms, of course.”
Noah gave up the effort to disguise his interest. “Oh yeah? Then what’re you wasting time for? Why not now?”
Derrick turned to face him soberly. “Man to man?”
Clearly, no one had ever addressed Noah in such a fashion. His shoulders squared a little, almost unconsciously, even as his expression grew more guarded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Your work is unfinished,” Derrick told him. “You are unfinished as an artist. To show a work before it’s ready deeply undervalues it.”
Noah thought about this for a moment. “You mean if I hold off my stuff is going to be worth more than if I sold it now?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Noah grunted. “You think I could be an artist then?”
“I think you are already an artist. Don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Lindsay is an artist and it don’t make no never mind to her. I want to be the kind of artist that makes money.”
“I’m sure you’re not the first person to ever say that.”
Noah regarded him speculatively for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Okay,” he invited expansively, “talk to me. What do I need to do to get you to buy my paintings?”
Derrick gestured toward the door, smiling. “First, let’s find a fire to sit in front of, and maybe