Finding August

Chapter Nine

"It'll be great."

August jumped at the sound of Russell's voice. He turned to find the blonde man smiling at him in encouragement.

"Everyone looks happy — even the critics. It doesn't look like anyone is ready to start a s**t show," Russell further remarked, patting August's shoulder as the smaller man looked into the crowd.

"I guess," August mumbled, watching as people walked about the exhibit. His chest felt tight anytime he spotted someone or a group of people paused to observe a painting. He'd watch them for a minute or two then look away when he decided there weren't there to slander his work with jest and insults.

Russell gave him a reassuring smile before walking away towards a crowd of people.

August looked about, not knowing what to do in the busy exhibit. He decided to wander about the place, pausing to inspect his own painting every once in a while.

"That looks really amazing. I hope we get to see the artist soon," a lady muttered, adjusting the pair of glasses that was resting on her slender nose as she held on to the arm of the man that August could only assume was her husband. A smile tugged at his lips at her words before he wandered away.

No one seemed to recognize him, and it was nice hearing what people thought about his work as a mere bystander.

Turning at a corner, he came up to the huge board wide painting of a scene at Vincent's tattoo parlor on a busy day. It wasn't a regular realism painting. August had captured the scene in bright shades of yellow, red and orange instead of dull tones of earthen grey. It had taken August about a week to complete. Vincent had rolled his eyes anytime August had taken out the canvas to paint in the midst of the busy salon.

"That's good, really good," someone who'd come to get a new addition to his sleeve had said with an approving nod as August had worked on it. Most people had looked at in curiosity, amusement or fascination as he'd done that piece.

August had done many paintings of Vincent and the things and people he associated himself with during his stay. He had always been sketching, painting or using some form of medium or the other to create art.

He missed that enthusiasm to work. Paranoia and stress had sucked out all but a little motivation from him when he'd gotten to New York. It was easy to tell by simply viewing the paintings he'd done here in New York and comparing them to the ones he'd done in Detroit. Or maybe he was the only one who could see that. They were well done, they just lacked a deeper meaning and sense of fulfillment.

August corked his head at the painting in front of him, before turning to glance at a more recent one he'd done in New York. He wasn't sure if anyone else could spot the thread.

He wandered about the place, looking about before pausing to view an abstract piece he'd done late into his stay in Vincent's home. It was done sharp ink like colors, representing the different patterns and forms August had picked up from Vincent's tattoo sketchbook.

There had been a time that August had offered to show Vincent hot to paint, but Vincent had gotten frustrated with merely the basics and given up. August had laughed, getting him back for making fun of him for refusing to learn how to do tattoos.

August sighed at the memory, giving the painting one last look before wandering off. The exhibition had been going on for over three hours, and people had started making inquiries on how to buy or bid for a painting. It was surprising to August. He'd never thought anyone would like, not to talk about wanting to buy his paintings.

"I told you, mate, it's the first exhibition and half of your work is already under inquires," August heard Russell's voice say from behind as someone clapped their palm on his shoulder. He turned his head a bit to look at the smiling face of the blond man before returning his gaze to the crowd surrounding a painting a distance away.

In the next thirty minutes or so, the exhibition was drawn to a close and August was called upon by one of its organizers. People in the crowd clapped and chattered among themselves as he made his way to the podium. They might have spotted him about during the exhibition and discussing over how they'd never made the connection.

"This is the artist of all the works you've seen today. His name is August," the coordinator said, placing his hand on August's shoulder. August smiled towards the crowd, feeling a bit nauseous from all the attention.

"If you have any questions, I'm sure he'd be happy to entertain them," the dark man continued, turning briefly at August to give him an encouraging smile before returning his attention to the crowd.

There was a round of murmuring before some hands shot up to indicate that people wanted to ask questions. The coordinator tapped August's back, wishing him good luck before stepping down from the platform. August's gaze wandered from raised had to raised hand when he was left alone before he decided on whose question he'd like to entertain first.

"Where did you study art?" the young red-haired woman asked. She was smiling admirably at August and was probably a fellow artist herself. August returned her smile before picking at hair strands at the puff of his ponytail.

"I've only been in a formal institution for a few months. Most of the techniques I use were picked up during that time or by observing other people's works online. The experience did help solidify my personal style," August answered. The girl stared on at him as if she wasn't expecting that before nodding frantically at his answer.

August took that as her being satisfied before picking someone else to answer any question they might have.

"What's the inspiration for the works in this exhibit? I know its self-titled, but I can see a trend. The people represented in your portraits seem to be the same model and the other paintings are mostly treating mundane scenes with an unnatural color palette," The middle-aged man said, stunning August for a bit.

"Well..." August trailed, "I've recently been interested in using brighter more contrasting colors, and the scenes are as a result of the area I was living in at that time. You're right about the model. It is indeed the same person."

The man nodded, writing something down in the notebook August was just realizing he had with him.

August looked away from the man, entertaining yet another question.

"Your style lacks a formal feel, care to address that? It doesn't seem like something that's part of the naive movement but it has it's similarities," The plum lady right in front of the stand said, tapping the end of the pen against her hollow cheek as she watched August.

"I'm not trying to fit into any art movement. Like I said before, I wasn't fully trained in a formal institution. For the most part, I did a lot of modeling styles and concepts I enjoyed from other people's work," he answered, watching as the woman gave him a satisfied nod.

The rest of the question and answer session went by smoothly. The exhibit hall was soon emptied leaving the coordinators and sponsors to shake hands and celebrate the exhibition's success over wine. August wasn't up for discussion so Russell decided to escort him back to the apartment.

When getting into the taxi August's mind thought back to one of the questions.

"The people represented in your portraits seem to be the same model."

He felt his face flush. He'd tried to vary the look and features from person to person, even change the sexes but somehow that person had known. All the portrait paintings August had put on display were modeled after Vincent.

He let out a sigh, letting himself look at the passing scenery as the taxi drove through the street.

-

"Stay still," August complained, sighing as he got up from his seat behind the stand of his canvas. Vincent muttered a low apology as he stretched his limbs on the bench he'd been made to sit still on.

August walked up to his lover's sitting figure, smoothing out Vincent's tired frown with his palms. Vincent yawned, looking up at August with half closed eyes.

"I want to go to bed," he mumbled, resting his head on August's chest. "Can you do this tomorrow?"

August hummed, running his hand Vincent's short coarse curls. It had been a long painting four-hour session, and he was pleasantly surprised that Vincent hadn't complained earlier.

-

"August we're here," Russell said, bringing August out of his thoughts. August nodded at him, opening the back door to leave. As they walked up to their apartment complex, August's mind wandered back to Vincent.

Vincent had served as his portrait model throughout August's stay with him. August would say he did it out of convenience but it was much more than that. August had found himself sketching Vincent out even in his absence. He'd just been fascinated, infatuated with Vincent's every being.

August found himself smiling at his thoughts as Russell unlocked their apartment door. The first exhibition had gone well — extremely well. If the next two exhibits lined up went just as well, he'd be able to go back to Detroit to meet Vincent. The thought made him happy — so, so happy.