It was a beautiful afternoon in May, and the campus was at the most glorious point in its delightful transition from the bleak barren wasteland of Spring recess, immediately before senior theses were due, and the lush vegetation characteristic of the grounds and students during Summer School.
Having nothing better to do, Professor Joe Biggs decided to take a stroll across the campus. On the slim but plausible chance that his amiable peer, Professor Mary Gooly, might be on campus as well, his apparently aimless wanderings brought him, as if by chance, to the neighborhood of the art building. To say that Joe and Mary were an item would be to overstate the case, but since the previous weekend, when they had met at a dinner party hosted by a common friend and shared a pleasant evening of conversation, bridge, and Wii, Joe had felt that there was a certain spark. Telephone numbers had been exchanged, email had been swapped, names googled, and discrete inquiries made. Joe knew that Mary was single, and, bucking the stereotype for her department, straight and tended to have long-term monogamous relationships.
Joe realized that his relationship with Mary had potential when he found himself imagining how he was going to explain to his family that he was involved with a woman with a notorious reputation for leading no-trump on hopelessly weak hands, but he felt confident that they would come to respect and eventually love her for her many other virtues.
The landscaping of the grounds in this area of campus was different than the history quadrangle, where Joe spent most of his time, and both the flora and fauna were considerably more colorful. As Joe approached the steps at the front of the art building, his eyes were drawn to a spiky-haired undergraduate of indeterminate gender and unnameable garb who was consulting a poster that had been taped to the door. The poster advertised the opening of an installation of the work of the students about to graduate from the department, and Joe was mildly relieved to see that the exhibit was open. This gave him a reasonable excuse to go inside the building. Perhaps he would be lucky, and Mary would be at the exhibit. After a quick calculation, he determined that his story was quite plausible, and would not sound entirely creepy. There were a number of other people walking through the doors, most likely on their way to the exhibit, so this was clearly something an ordinary person would do. Besides, he honestly enjoyed art, and some of the students were gifted artists, and so Mary’s presence or absence was really just a red herring. With a clear conscience, Joe ascended the stairs and entered the building.
The exhibit was interesting, but few of the works made much impression on Joe. Although he was the first to confess that his knowledge of art was, at best, shallow and unschooled, he knew what he liked. None of this work spoke to him.
As he neared the end of circuit, one painting caught his eye. It was simply a still life–a pencil drawing of three pears in a bowl–but it was done in a manner that appeared almost photographic in the realism and level of detail. Joe had never been able to draw anything more complicated than a smiley face, and it amazed him that someone could capture and express such detail. Even more interestingly, he knew that most of the detail was actually being supplied by his own mind; the image was constructed of stark black lines on a flat white surface, yet somehow he was able to interpolate, between these extremes, an image of fruit. He sincerely wished, as he had many times in the past, that he had the gift of being able to draw or paint.
Joe noticed that the name of the student artist was the same as the name of a student he had had in one of his classes in the previous semester. He wondered if it could it be the same Alice. It seemed likely; how many Alice Barnchesters could there be?
She had been a good student, but not exceptional, except in terms of her attendance at his office hours. After her first few visits, Joe was not sure where the earnest curiosity ended and the brown-nosing began, and by mid-term he was beginning to wonder if it would save a lot of his time if he simply gave her the answers to the homework assignments rather than endure her endless questions and requests for help. Although he was tempted more than once to remind her that he was not her personal tutor, and that many of the questions she was asking could be answered by a small amount of diligence, a library card, and a network connection, he never succumbed to that temptation. Instead, he succumbed to the temptation of permitting her to continue coming to his office hours and asking more detailed questions than appropriate, because the alternative was to resign himself to the tedium of an empty, silent office punctuated only by the the occasional unscheduled visit from someone complaining about how his or her test was graded. Joe remembered Alice with a mixture of fondness tempered with mild annoyance, and idly wondered what she was planning to do after graduation.
Joe was unfamiliar with the art building, and after he left the exhibit he found himself walking down a hall lined with small studios with large glass doors. One was occupied by someone drawing a portrait of a young man sitting on a chair and reading a book. As Joe passed, the artist came into view from behind her easel, and he recognized Alice. Without thinking about it he rapped on the glass door. Alice looked up as her model turned around, and Joe recognized Andrew, one the other students who had been in his class with Alice. Alice recognized Joe, smiled, and waved for him to come in. Andrew removed his earbuds.
“I was just at the exhibit, and I saw your still life. I thought it was remarkable. You really captured the, well, I don’t know what you would call it. The essence of the fruit. It looked very real. It impressed me, anyway.”
“Thank you.” Alice smiled and looked down.
Joe continued. “I don’t know how to draw anything myself, and you are obviously have a gift, or a knack, or whatever it would be called, and so I was wondering, if you don’t mind, if I could watch you draw for a few moments. But only if you don’t mind. I don’t want to break your concentration or get in the way or anything like that.”
“It’s OK. You can watch for as long as you like. I’m afraid it’s not very interesting to just watch, however. It might be more fun if you tried doing it, too.”
“No, I’d just like to watch for a minute. Is it OK with you, Andrew? I don’t want to get in the way.”
“It’s OK, I guess. It’s cool, as long as Alice says it’s OK.” Andrew shrugged and put his earbuds back in.
Joe sat on a folding chair at the back at the back of the studio, several feet behind Alice and a few feet to the side, where he could watch her draw on the paper and look at Andrew at the same. The drawing looked like it was nearly finished, but Alice would occasionally erase a small part of the drawing or intentionally smear other parts with her fingers, and then start on that area again. Joe was captivated. He watched as an impossibly small number of lines, seemingly placed at random, suddenly knitted together to form the image of a mans hands. A bit of shading, and they were just as suddenly Andrews hands.
“That’s amazing, how you drew his hands like that,” Joe said.
Alice continued drawing, but started to describe what she was doing. “It’s not hard. I’m not sure I can explain it, at least as well as Professor Gooly can, in technical terms, but it’s sort of half intuition and half practice.”
The mention of Mary engaged Joes attention. Joe decided it made sense to pay attention, if this was something that Mary found interesting or important. Even if he couldn’t draw, at least he need not sound completely ignorant.
Alice continued describing the process, although very little of it made much sense to Joe, who soon began to wonder whether he lacked some particular mental ability crucial to the understanding of free drawing, or whether he was suffering because another part of his brain was overdeveloped. Joe had always prided himself on having a fully functional and unusually sensitive bullshit detector.
“You know,” said Alice, “you would probably learn a lot more by actually trying to draw something than by listening to me talk. Why don’t you try drawing something right now?”
Joe was was suddenly very self-conscious. He did not want to draw in front Alice or Andrew. “I really can’t draw. I’m not being modest–I’m really terrible. It’s probably pointless for me to try and it would certainly be a waste of your time to try to teach me.”
“After all of your time I took in your office hours, it’s the least I can do to take a few minutes to tell you some pointers. Go ahead. There is an extra easel leaning against the wall, with paper already tacked on. Just move it over here, and try.”
There was a certain sweetness in her voice that made Joe overcome his embarrassment. He set up the easel and Alice handed him a pencil that looked to Joe like a fat graphite crayon.
“What should I draw? I don’t think I’m ready to draw a person.”
“Well, you can start by drawing simple forms–spheres, cones, cubes, things like that. Try to make them look real, with shading. You can make a shadow by rubbing the paper with your finger like this.”
“Maybe I will try a sphere.” Joe began to draw.
Joe began to draw. He tried to draw circles, but the results were not round. Sometimes he had problems getting the start and the end of his circles to meet, but by being slow and methodical, his circles gradually evolved from potatoes to ovals to eggs.
As he was drawing, Alice watched over his shoulder for a moment, but made no comment. Andrew looked bored and restless. Noting Andrews discontent, Alice walked over to his chair, gently pulled out one of his ear buds, leaned over and whispered a few words into his ear, and then lightly kissed him on the top of his head. Andrew popped the ear bud back in, nodded once, and smiled.
Alice returned to her work, only glancing at Joe from time to time. Joe felt that he was making great improvement, but was painfully aware that all improvement is relative. His circles were barely round, and as he tried to shade them, the results were very different from what he expected, and never seemed to be the same twice. He soon decided to simply try to reproduce the same shading more than once, in order to feel that he had any control over it at all. After several minutes he felt he had made some progress, and returned to the task of shading spheres.
Before he realized it, at least fifteen minutes had gone by. He stepped back to inspect his work. The paper was tiled with four rows of irregularly space and sized circles of varying roundness and shading. None of them looked like spheres. None of them looked like a drawing of anything in particular.
Joe thought it had been fun to try, and although he felt a slight sense of accomplishment about keeping the smeared graphite approximately where he had intended, he didn’t feel like he was making any real progress.
He put the pencil down on the easel and turned to thank Alice and tell him that he needed to go. He was surprised to see her standing immediately behind him, looking past him, at his paper.
“I thought you said you couldn’t draw,” she said. “You’re too modest. You’re great! Andrew, what do you think?”
“They’re fantastic! Practically leaping off the page! From here it looks like someone glued ping-pong balls to the paper–I can’t believe it’s really flat. I wouldn’t believe it myself, if I hadn’t watched you do it.”
“Do you really think so?,” asked Joe. He was puzzled. He turned back to look at his paper again.
A small movement at the bottom of the easel caught his eye. A small fish-eyed mirror had been glued to the bottom of the frame. Joe remembered why they were there–because the walls of the studio were mostly glass, and many of the students who worked there late at night got nervous about whether someone was looking in on them, especially after there had been reports of strange men who had an unhealthy interest in some of the nude models employed by the painting classes.
Joe glanced at the mirror. He saw Andrew flash a thumbs-up at Alice and saw Alice wave back, motioning his hand down. She had a broad smile on her face.
Joe turned to face Alice. Her face was earnest. Andrew looked enthusiastic.
“You have a gift, Professor,” said Andrew.
“I don’t see it,” said Andrew.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s awfully good,” Alice commented. And this is the first time you’ve ever tried this? I’d say that is remarkable. With a little more practice, who knows?”
Joe turned to the easel once more. In the mirror, he saw Alice motioning for Andrew to be quiet. Andrew cleared his throat.
“Which one do you think is best?” he asked.
“There are several that are good, but in different ways,” Alice answered. “I like the last two you did best.”
“I was so engrossed that I didn’t even notice that you were watching me,” Joe remarked. “These two?” he asked, turning again towards Alice. “I can hardly tell them apart. None of them look that good to me.”
“Maybe your problem isn’t that you can’t draw,” said Alice. “Maybe your problem is that you can’t recognize it when you draw well.”
“I recognize it when other people draw well. I think I can tell a good drawing from a bad drawing. Do you really think they’re that good.”
“Well, they’re a beginning. But definite signs of a gift. You’ll have to cultivate it. Nurture it. And practice a lot. But eventually you’re going to be fantastic. In fact, I think in a few weeks you could have something to submit to the faculty art magazine.”
This is complete bullshit, Joe thought to himself. But looking past Alice, he saw Mary Gooly walk by.
“Thank you very much for the lesson, Alice, and the kind words, Andrew, but I just realized that I’m very late for something,” Joe said, and quickly left the studio, in pursuit of Mary.
“Mary! Hello!,” Joe said, seeing Mary ahead of him in the hall.
“What brings you here? Doing a little drawing today?” Mary asked, looking at Joes hands, which were covered in graphite. “I thought I saw you in the studio with Alice and Andrew when I walked by, but I thought maybe I was imagining things. Are you helping them?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” explained Joe, quickly outlining the course of events that had led to this moment. “I came to see the senior projects exhibit, and when I was leaving, I ran into Alice, and stayed to watch her draw for a few minutes. I think she’s really very good.”
“How do you know Alice?”
“She was in one of my classes. So was her model, Andrew. Last semester.”
Mary looked closely at Joes face. “Is that it?”
“That’s how I know her. That’s it. But I’m intrigued by the way that you asked. Is there something about Alice that I don’t know?”
“Is it normal in the history department for professors to just drop by and socialize with their students?”
“No, not particularly, but since she used to come to office hours quite a bit, I guess a certain familiarity grew between us, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable about it. Nothing improper, in my opinion.”
“You were with an undergraduate in a closed studio, in an area of the building that doesn’t see a lot of traffic on the weekends,” Mary hissed.
“I was in a studio with a glass door, with a student and her boyfriend, and people were just walking right by. For example, you. Are you accusing me of something? If you thought there was something going on, why didn’t you poke your head in and check?” Joe struggled to keep his voice from rising. He did not see why this conversation was becoming heated.
Mary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her shoulders relaxed. She continued in a lowered “I’m not accusing you of anything. I don’t think you’re that kind of person. Not that stupid. But Alice–she’s something to worry about. I’m worried about you.”
“How so?”
Mary looked in both directions to check that the hall was unoccupied. “Do you remember Jenkins, who left last year to take a post at UC Davis? Do you known why he left, just one year before his tenure decision?”
“No, I don’t know anything. We don’t really know what goes on in other departments. We don’t spread rumors. Historians hate rumors.”
“Well, there were rumors in our department. Rumors that he was having an affair with an undergraduate. With Alice.”
“That’s awful for her. Why wasn’t he fired? He shouldn’t be teaching at a University, if he’s that sort of person.”
“He’s not. He didn’t do it. I don’t know the details of what happened, but I know Jenkins. He wouldn’t ever have done this. I’ve known him for years and there’s no way the rumors are true. No way. But once rumors get started, the damage is done. Nobody ever remembers whether you got exonerated, they just remember that you were accused.”
“OK, that’s awful for him. But still, why the concern?”
“I don’t want the same thing happening to you.”
“I’m not involved with Alice. Not in any way.”
“I know. But it only matters what people think. And what rumors people start. She’s scary. I think she started the rumors to get rid of Jenkins.”
“That’s a strong accusation.”
“I’m her advisor. The one thing she’s good at is drawing. Academically, she’s not good at much else, but she manages to pass all of her classes, one way or the other. She works the system. It’s OK; lots of students here work the system. But last semester, she was having real trouble in Jenkins class. She wanted to transfer out, but it’s a required course not offered this semester, so she needed it to graduate. I don’t know what happened, but here’s my guess. She tried to get Jenkins to help her, one way or the other. He refused. She filed harassment charges with the Dean.”
“OK, look. She’s not in any of my classes. I probably won’t ever see her again. After this conversation, I’ll make a point of it. There’s nothing going on, and frankly, I don’t even like her right now. In fact, I’m pretty annoyed.”
“Oh?”
Joe told about watching Alice draw, and, with some embarrassment, about his futile attempts to draw spheres, followed by Alice and Andrews sarcasm and attempts to set him up for future humiliation.
“Are you sure they were joking?”
“I’m sure. I can’t draw. I stink. They were laughing at me.”
“And you’re sure she was drawing a portrait of Andrew, reading a book?”
“Yes. It would be pretty hard to miss that.”
“Well, that’s interesting. That’s her final assignment, and she’s only supposed to spend three hours on it. By my count, she’s already spent far longer, and is still working on it.”
“Final assignment? For what course?”
“Drawing and critiquing. The final assignment is to draw something to spec, and to critique a drawing submitted by another member of the class.”
“It sounds harsh, having to hear people tear apart your work.”
“It’s not like that. The critique is supposed to focus on the positive elements. No drawing is perfect–there’s always something bad to say. That’s too easy. The skill I try to teach is to find what is good about it. There’s always something good to say.”
“Not with my drawings. Unless you’re teaching people how to bullshit, they’re not going to find anything good to say.”
“Are they really that bad?”
“Horrible. I’m dying inside, just thinking about them.”
“Hmmm… I have a nasty idea. Do you think you can tolerate seeing Alice one more time?”
“What do you have in mind? Am I going to get into trouble?”
Mary quickly explained her idea. Joe added a few modifications. They smiled at each other.
“This will take careful timing,” said Joe.
“Trust me.”
“They might already be gone.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Without answering, Joe turned on his heel and retraced his steps to the studio where Alice and Andrew had been working. They were still there, and Alice was still drawing. Joe rapped on the glass for a second time, and Alice waved him in.
“I was practically back to my car, when I realized that I have no idea where to get this kind of pencil,” he explained, standing in the doorway. “Can I have the one I was using? Or can I at least write down the brand name and number, so I can buy my own? I really want to do more drawing. Thanks to your encouragement, I think I’m really getting the hang of it.”
Joe hoped he wasn’t overplaying his part. Acting had never been one of his skills.
Leaving the studio door open, and without waiting for Alice’s response, Joe walked to the back of the studio and picked up the pencil from the easel. Andrew appeared to be rolling his eyes.
Mary appeared at the open door and quickly entered.
“Hello, Alice and Andrew. And hello, Joe! Alice I’m surprised to see you working so late. Is your final assignment finished? Haven’t you used up all of your time?”
“I’m working on something else. A graduation present for Andrew. My final drawing is finished and I’ll bring it tomorrow morning,” Alice lied without hesitation.
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing it. If it’s half as good as this drawing of Andrew reading, you will receive high marks. It’s too bad this isn’t your final project. It’s a wonderful subject.”
Alice bit her lip but said nothing. Mary paid no attention to her silence and continued talking, turning towards Joe.
“And Joe, I’m quite surprised to see you here at all! What brings you here?”
“Alice was showing me how to draw shaded objects. She said I have a gift. I drew a bunch of shaded spheres. Andrew said that he thinks they look like they’re leaping off the page. Anyway, long story short, I just came back to get a pencil.”
“Alice, are they really that good?”
Alice looked at Joe, and then back at Mary. “I thought so.”
“Can I see them?”
“Joe has them, I think. They’re not here.” The easel was empty.
“Joe, do you have them?”
“I think I left them here somewhere. They’re probably somewhere in the stack over here, by the garbage. In any case, I know I left them here, so they’re somewhere in the room.”
“Good. Listen, I have to go. But I have an idea. Alice, I want you to critique Joes spheres tomorrow morning at class. If they’re really that good, it will be a pleasure to hear your insights.” Mary turned and walked quickly through the door and down the hall.
“Ah, found them,” said Joe, pulling his work of art from the garbage. “I don’t need them. I think I’ve learned the lesson. You can have them. I hope everyone likes them tomorrow. And congratulations on graduating.”
Joe followed Mary out the studio and down the hall. He caught up to her on the steps.
“I was wondering, are you busy tomorrow night? Would you like to get together for dinner or something?”
“You want to know what happens.”
“Partly. But I also want to get to know you better.”
Mary smiled. “OK. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll work something out.”
– – – –
Joe didn’t ask until the waiter brought the coffee.
“I’m curious about how Alice’s presentation went today.”
“I’m curious about why you didn’t ask earlier.”
“I wanted to show that I was more interested in you than Alice.”
“Are you that kind of a schemer?”
“You’re asking me? This thing with Alice was your idea.”
“Touche.”
“You would have figured it out anyway.”
“Of course. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“OK, so what did happen?”
“First, she presented your spheres, and did a critique.”
“How did they look? Were there any survivors?”
“They looked fantastic. They really did look like they were three dimensional, like they were sticking out of the page.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“They weren’t mine.”
“No, of course not. She probably stayed up all night drawing her own spheres. They looked like her style, and they were magnificent. Her best work. It’s too bad she couldn’t get a grade for your work.”
“I didn’t think she’d do that. I thought she’d confess.”
“I was a little bit surprised too. But not very surprised. You don’t know her as well as I do.”
“But what about her drawing? What did she present? If she stayed up all night doing the spheres, and she couldn’t do Andrew, what did she do?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“I’m dying to know.”
“A quick hard pencil sketch of a man and woman making love. No shading, very few lines. A remarkable work of minimalism. Unlike anything I’ve taught her. Better than I could have taught her. Could go straight into a museum.”
“Wow. Sounds amazing. What happened to it?”
“All the students own their artwork. She took it away at the end of class. She has it. If you want to see it, you’ll need to ask her.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Mary took a sip of her coffee and looked at Joe. She held his gaze until he cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows quizically. “There’s something else, isn’t there,” he said.
“I want you to know something first. Miles, your squash partner, is an old friend of mine. I talked to him earlier this afternoon.”
Joe waited patiently. Mary wasn’t finished.
“He knows something about you that I didn’t. I apologize for asking him. I should have trusted you. I trust you now. You need to know that first.”
“I don’t know Miles very well. We just play squash together a few times a month. I can’t imagine what he told you.”
“He told me that you have an appendectomy scar. A big one. From back when they had to slice people open to get it out.”
“I was a teenager. It was a big deal back then. I’ve got staple marks. They’re not pretty. But I am still baffled about where this is going. What does my appendectomy have to do with anything?”
“The women in the drawing was Alice. The man in the drawing had your face. But no scar.”
“I am at a loss for words. No, I have words. I’m going to have nightmares about this.”
