Lion's Share (24 page)

Jana cast a slight smile in Natalie's direction, then in Ed's. Ed had his nose pointed at the heavy oak table. “If Bill doesn't know Ed and I are seeing each other, he's certainly not going to suspect it from
this
meeting,” Jana thought.

“As you probably suspected, our board decided that, in the interest of free speech, Matt Fillmore's
Power and Light
drawing (he winced when he mentioned the title) should be included in the exhibition. We do, however, insist upon one stipulation. We see it as imperative that APL make its own position known as well.” He nodded to Ed, whose fingers were nervously drumming on a manila envelope in front of him.

“We've drawn up a statement presenting our views,” Ed began. “And we'd like it presented alongside the drawing—on a plaque at the exhibition, as well as in the catalog.” He opened the envelope and passed copies of the statement around:

“Free speech means free speech for everyone,” Frank said.

Bill glanced from Natalie to Jana and back again. Drawing a blank on both faces, he saw it as his duty to respond. “It might be best if we discuss this with members of The Paperworks Space board. Hopefully, we can get back to you by the end of the week.”

“We'll also have to talk with the artist,” Jana said.

“Of course, I understand perfectly,” Frank said, rising. The meeting had been adjourned.

“Whew,” Jana exclaimed as they walked out the revolving doors to the street.

“I have a little time before I'm due back at the office. Why don't we get some coffee?” Bill suggested. His “have to talk to members of the board” was, as Jana and Natalie realized, an excuse; obviously,
they
were the ones he wanted to talk with. They headed for that same coffee shop where Jana and Natalie had bumped into Ed ten months ago.

“I'd venture to say we got off lucky,” Bill said as they sat down. “We realized that, even at best, we might have to make slight compromises, and this one's about as harmless as they come.”

“Tell that to Matt Fillmore,” Jana responded.

“I will, if you want me to,” Bill offered, gracious as usual.

Feeling Natalie glaring at her, Jana shook the knots from her neck and apologized. “I didn't mean to be so glib about it, I'm just not looking forward to Matt's reaction. Thanks for your offer, but I'm the curator, it's my job to tell him.”

“We can both tell him, if you want. I've worked with him on other projects, and I know him socially, so I might be a little better at presenting the corporate view.”

“You'll be a
lot
better at presenting the corporate view,” Jana laughed.

Bill agreed to call Matt and set up a meeting as soon as he could. “Also, remember something—the very fact that Matt's willing to have his work included in this exhibition to begin with suggests that, even though he might be critical of APL's actions, he's willing to enter into a dialogue.”

“I'll keep than in mind when we talk to him,” Jana promised. Leave it to Bill to be rational.

Friday's luncheon meeting was supposed to include Natalie, but some last-minute problems came up that Natalie had to attend to, so Jana was left on her own to meet with Bill and Matt. She'd been introduced to Matt at a few openings, but the only times they'd talked had been on the phone since they'd started working on the exhibition. “He's always seemed pleasant enough,” she told herself as she headed for the restaurant. Even after six years working as a curator, she was still a bit in awe of big-name artists whose work she respected.

She also hadn't remembered how tall Matt was—over six feet, with a very firm handshake. Nervously, she sat down. Thankfully, Bill and Matt had a lot to say to each other, and Bill was as adept as ever at conversation. Drawing Jana in, they chatted about reasonably safe topics such as Reagan's recent cutbacks in Medicare and support for the arts. “Art's been running into more and more problems of late,” Jana said, sensing her opening.

The lead-in was stronger than she'd anticipated. Conversation halted, and she felt Matt's intense eyes staring her down. “Such as?” he asked.

“Such as APL wasn't exactly delighted with your
Power and Light
piece.”

Matt gave a slight laugh. “I wasn't exactly intending to delight them. I did that work especially for the exhibition.”

“I figured as much. It's an extremely strong piece,” Jana hastened to add.

“But they want it out of the show, right? Well, no way. Take that out, you can take
all
my work out.”

“As a matter of fact, we've convinced them that censorship wouldn't be in anyone's best interests, including theirs,” Bill said, not batting an eyelash.

“I'm still hearing a
but
at the end of that sentence.”

“Free speech means free speech for everyone, including Big Business,” Jana said, echoing Frank's words. “APL wants to be certain viewers are also presented with their point of view.” She passed Matt the envelope. “In the catalog, and on a plaque at the exhibition,” she added while he was reading it.

“Sort of lessens the effect, don't you think?” he asked sarcastically.

“Not really. If anything, giving their point of view might even heighten the controversy, draw more attention to your work.”

“To my work, or to the political statement?”

“Why did you do the drawing in the first place if it wasn't to make the statement?” Jana asked.

“Touché,” Matt said dryly. Then he suggested he might want to add his own statement.

“That drawing seems statement enough, and its power comes from letting viewers make up their own minds,” Jana said. Natalie might have come up with a comment such as “art enlightens, it doesn't preach,” but Jana had never been forced to sit through the art history and art appreciation courses that Natalie and most other people had suffered in their younger days.

“Besides, the eye absorbs quicker than the mind,” Bill added. “Many people will respond to the image and pay no attention whatever to the text.”

Matt asked for a few days to think it over.

“We promised APL we'd get back to them by the end of the week, and Jana also has to get working on the catalog copy,” Bill said. “Actually, we've been in negotiations concerning your drawing since before the holidays. Everyone was hoping we'd win unconditional acceptance, which is why we didn't tell you about it before.”

Matt let his eyes rest between his two companions. Then he read the statement again. “Do you fight this hard for all your artists?” he asked, casting an almost sheepish smile in Jana's direction. He wasn't giving in, he wasn't saying the words
Yes, I'll remain in the show
, but he'd obviously intended that smile to speak for him.

“Only the artists I think are worth it,” Jana laughed, taking a bite of food for the first time in the past fifteen minutes. She was almost beginning to enjoy this expensive lunch.

With the major task of the past three months successfully accomplished, Jana could finally devote her attention to preparing for the show at the Walker. Ten days later, already March and starting to get warm outside, she stood in the center of her studio, giving the “city life” paintings one last look before crating them. The last time these paintings had been spread out before her eyes was in August, when they were photographed for slides submitted to DCA. Jana counted on her fingers: September, October, November, December, January, February, March—seven months. It felt more like seven years. The shadow of the dead body in the corner of
Mulberry Street
could be easily mistaken for a photographic reproduction, yet she distinctly recalled thinking at the time it had broken new ground.

Three years ago, when she'd begun work on these paintings, she and Gary had long talks about photo-realism. Gary had pointed out the individuality of her focus: “If ten artists paint the same street at the same time of day, they'll all focus on something different. Your talent lies in your ability to pick out the inconsequential fragment that no one else pays attention to.” And Jana had chalked up those “inconsequential fragments” to the hours on end that she had spent walking around the city with a camera, using the lens as a tool for keeping the object close yet distant. She'd described the snapshots tacked on her easel as a device for making the transformative process easier.

“Transformed into what?” she asked herself now. Transformation couldn't be summoned, it happened when she wasn't looking, and it stemmed from an inward focus, not an outward one. Its roots were in abstraction, even when the final image was immediately recognizable. She recalled the process of painting that first successful self-portrait last August. She'd begun by drawing a bathing cap for the skull, put a smudge on her cheek, and ended by painting heavy, crisscrossed lines weighing the mind down. The original attempt to capture her inner beauty had provided, instead, a portrait of the mind
blocking
radiance. And she'd gone on from there in more recent paintings, often emerging with surreal, unpredictable imagery—a hand on a shoulder appeared half-bone, half-crab claw, made more haunting by the shoulder and the arm being separated from the bodies that sustained them; a jumble of lines over a breast became recognizable as the halter top of a floral bathing suit, two flowers picked off.

The paintings spread out before her seemed stagnant by comparison, but she tried to work up the excitement again by seeing them with Gary's eye. In two weeks she'd be shipping
herself
off to Minneapolis, and if she didn't have faith in her paintings, she could hardly expect other people to appreciate them.

It was after two o'clock, and the trucker would be here at four—she'd better get moving. Once the paintings were safely packed, she could stare at the impersonal wood and pretend the crates contained her newer works. But those paintings weren't ready to show yet, either; she was still in the process of developing the new theme and the formal shifts that went along with it. Hammering the lid on the final crate, Jana wondered what Gary would say when he saw her new work. Before she realized what was happening, she found herself wondering what she'd be painting now if she'd been more in tune with her body years ago, if she and Gary had ended up as lovers.