A lion with a whip for a tail.
An elephant trying to curve its trunk around a crescent moon.
And then, in the next painting, the crescent moon trying to curve itself around the elephant.
She’s painted these things as if every single one of them is real.
“I should turn the car around, shouldn’t I?” Katie says when I’ve been silent for too long.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I reply.
Katie seems satisfied by this.
“It’s just a lot for me to take in,” she says. “It’s one thing when your friends are seeing it. Or people at school. But with strangers—it opens up something else. It gives a whole different dimension to it. Because suddenly the art has to stand for itself. That’s weird to me.”
“You’ve had plenty of scrimmages with your team, but now this is the game,” I say.
“Yes. This is the game.”
I sense there’s something else she’s not saying. So I go, “And?”
“And … I can’t help thinking it’s tied to her. None of this would have happened without her.”
“None of it would have happened without you, either.”
“I know. But I guess my point is that it’s the combination. Her and me equals this. However directly or indirectly. This.”
We drive a while longer, letting Sky Ferreira and Lorde do the singing for us. I finish looking at her art—even though I’m strictly amateur, there are some pieces that can be eliminated easily. Rough sketches that are rough because they haven’t found their subject yet. Assignments that feel like assignments. A collage that’s supposed to be political but only ends up being obvious.
“Have you made your choices?” Katie asks.
I can’t believe she trusts me. But I nod anyway.
“Good,” she says. “Keep those in the portfolio and throw the rest in the backseat.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She looks me in the eye and says, “Never.”
*
AntlerThorn is located in a somewhat trendsidential area off of Japantown. If it has a name, I don’t know it. All I know is that once we’re inside the gallery I am way, way out of my element. EDM is blasting Every Damn Moment, and the walls are painted the brightest pink I’ve ever seen.
“Intense,” I say.
“That’s one word for it,” Katie murmurs.
The music cuts off. The lights undim. A Mumford & Sons song begin to strum in the far background.
A man comes out of a door in the back and tells us, “Hello, hello, hello!” He’s got a grizzly beard and a Tigger bounce as he walks. He’s wearing a One Direction T-shirt, on which someone has spray-painted AND THAT DIRECTION IS OUT.
“You must be Ms. Cleary. And entourage. Audra is so sorry she can’t be here to see you. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. LOL!”
“Hi,” Katie says.
“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Brad. Bad-with-an-r! Or rad-with-a-B! Depends on which day you catch me! Can I get you something to drink? We have tap water, tap water, or tap water. We’re a nonprofit, after all. Not that we’re a charity—we just rarely turn a profit! Ha!”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Me, too,” Katie says.
Brad spies the portfolio in Katie’s hand. “Oh, goody! Audra just loved what she saw on your Instagram—she wasn’t going to take Garrison’s word for it! We always like to check the work in person before committing to it. It’s like online dating!”
Katie is starting to take deep breaths.
Brad talks on. “Sorry about the techno onslaught when you came in—Audra just wanted me to check it out for the opening tomorrow night. It’s so great that you can take Antonio’s place—I can’t believe Ross is being such a bitch about it, but you know, Ross was always jealous of Antonio’s art, in the same way that Antonio was jealous that Ross was sexting dick pics like they were spam. To each his own! Audra was so worried about the whole situation, and then you fell right onto our gaydar, and suddenly it was like, eureka, now we know what to do with Wall Six. ‘Get ’em hung!’ Audra told me. And I told her, ‘I try!’ Ha!”
He’s walking us over to a table in front of a blank wall that must be Wall Six. I’m thinking I might need sunglasses to calm the power of the pink, but Katie isn’t looking straight on. She’s looking to the wall next to hers.
“Lin Chin,” she says with something approaching awe in her voice.
Each piece on this wall is a glass box, and inside each box is a pair of folded paper cranes. At first I don’t get it, but then I look closer, and my mind skips a beat. Because the cranes aren’t just floating there. They aren’t lifeless paper things. They exist in relation to one another. They are having a conversation, and I am observing it. Their bodies have language. The space between them has an intimacy.