Iced Reflections

Authors Note
I really struggled with this part of the story, and had to rewrite it three times before I was satisfied with it.

Exhibition: Risk and Reward
The impending exhibition night was dominant in Emily’s mind. This would be the culmination of months of risk taking, introspection, and artistic transformation. The lights of the gallery created soft, inviting reflections in the wet pavement. Even so Emily hesitated outside the doors. The thought of what was there to greet her - a room full of friends, collectors, and critics – caused her chest to tighten with anxiety. This wasn’t just another exhibition. This exhibition was a statement. It was a declaration of her rebirth as an artist. With all of that came the very real risk of rejection. The stakes were high. Emily had built her reputation, and her career, upon the foundation of a style that was sleek, minimalist, and highly controlled. A style that had made her successful. It made her a name that collectors knew they could rely on. But now there was a change, these paintings were raw and visceral a very radical departure from the sleek/minimalist style. They were Emily laid bare – chaotic unpredictable, emotional. She knew that if the exhibition were poorly received all she had worked for would unravel very quickly. Daniel had warned her, more than once, reminding her that collectors were a fickle bunch who valued consistency, and feared change.

Emily shook her head and took a deep breath. This wasn’t her concern anymore. She wasn’t painting for them. Her work had to reflect where she was now, not where she had been. Yet standing here outside the gallery she couldn’t quite silence the tiny voice of doubt. Wonder if she hadn’t taken to big a risk. The shift in her work was dramatic – even drastic. She understood that in the world of high-end galleries and art markets this kind of risk could have serious consequences.  What if no one understood the shift. Saw it as too wild, too unrefined. Or worse rejected it outright. Questions without answers. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was all part of the journey upon which she had embarked. She had already reconciled herself to the possibility that her new direction might alienate some of her old supporters. She was ready for the consequences – good or bad. ‘After all, art isn’t about playing it safe’ she thought.

Inside the gallery was a turmoil of conversation. The familiar scents of wine and fresh paint permeated the air. Emily could hear the soft buzz of voices as people circulated the gallery, pausing in front of each piece. Having entered quietly she tried to blend into the background observing the reactions from a distance. Her new paintings dominated the gallery. The bold colours, the textures, demanding attention in a way that work in her previous style never had. People gathered in small clusters. Their faces a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and, at times, confusion. She watched one of her older collectors stop before one of her larger canvases – a swirl of deep blues and green evoking the sea near the village. This woman had bought several of her minimalist pieces over the years. Now she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as if she struggled to reconcile, to comprehend, this wild untamed work against the clean geometric lines she had expected from Emily.

Emily had prepared herself for moments like this – the disappointment, the confusion. Yet, watching it unfold, in reality, before her stirred the inevitable twinge of doubt. She could read the uncertainty in the collector’s eyes. She could hear that internal question. Was this still the Emily she had supported for so long? The risk Emily had taken felt so much sharper now. This was more real. Would she lose these people? Would they abandon her, uninterested in her new direction? Then something unexpected happened. A young man, a collector she didn’t recognise stood next to the woman. He seemed transfixed. His eyes traced over the canvas taking in the movement, and energy of the piece. He didn’t speak, but his expression was one of fascination. After a few moments he turned and spoke to the woman. Emily couldn’t hear what had been said. The woman slowly nodded, and they continued to stand there and engage in a quiet, thoughtful discussion about the painting. Emily let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she had been holding. This wasn’t rejection. This was curiosity. That was enough for her.

As the evening progressed Emily moved through the crowd engaging in polite conversation. She answered questions about her new work, and listened to the reactions that trickled in. There were those who were effusive in their praise. They were thrilled by the boldness of the shift, excited that she was pushing boundaries. But there were those who were more hesitant, more reserved. Their comments were laced with that kind of polite detachment that suggested they were still unsure whether, or not, they liked what they were seeing. None of that bothered her. The fact that people were talking, thinking, debating, meant that she had succeeded in her goal. She wasn’t here to please. She was here to challenge. At one point Daniel brought her a glass of wine, accompanied by a knowing smile
‘You’re causing quite a stir.’ he  said handing her the glass.
Emily took the glass and smiled back.
‘Good, that’s just what I wanted.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve had a few collectors ask if this is permanent or just an experiment.’
‘What did you tell them?’ she asked – curious.
‘I told them the truth. I told them it’s a journey, and that I don’t think you are finished exploring yet.’
She smiled at that. He was right. This was just the beginning.

At one point Emily was standing in front of her breakthrough piece – the large textured canvas she had created after months of seeking for inspiration. It was the piece that unlocked everything. It was the piece that made her realise that she could relinquish control. That she could embrace the messiness of the creative process. She was aware of people stopping to admire the bold strokes of colour that embraced the layered textures, and the way in which the work seemed to pulse with life. She overheard snippets of the conversations that surrounded her. Some praising the raw emotion of her work. Others wondering how it fitted into the larger context of her career.

But there was one overheard comment that stuck with her. A woman standing a few feet away from her turned to her companion and said
‘You can feel her in this one. It’s like she’s right there, in the paint.’
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. That was it. That was what she had been wanting to do. To put herself, her truth, into her work. She had striven to create something that was more than just technically impressive, but to create work that was emotionally honest.

The risk had been worth it.

At the end of the evening Emily felt a sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment. The exhibition hadn’t been perfect. Some had been obviously unsettled by the works. Some might never come back. Others had been drawn in ensnared by the bold rawness of her new work, and restless to see where she would go next. Suddenly Emily felt totally at peace with herself. She had taken a leap. Taken the risk. The reward was her newfound sense of freedom on the other side. Daniel approached her again as the last few guests were leaving
‘You did it.’ he said, his voice full of admiration.
She nodded as she scanned the almost empty gallery. The paintings – her paintings – standing proudly on the walls. Symbols. Not symbols of what she had been before. Symbols of what the journey had helped her become.
‘I did.’ she said with a tone of finality ‘I really did.’
The risk had been real. More real that she had cared to admit to herself. But the reward, her rediscovery and reclamation of her voice were priceless. She had found the path back to art. Rediscovered the joy of creativity. Found herself. Now she was more than ready for whatever came next.