For the next couple days after going to Sun and Moon with Charlie I thought fairly hard about what I was going to do, and through all that thinking I—to my own surprise—became pretty motivated to look into what message my subconscious may have been sending me through that dream. Charlie interpreted it as a message to keep looking into, and I’m beginning to think she was right. I made a small pact with myself to check out the forest back home again, and see if maybe there is a slim chance there might be something telling there. If not I can always look into other areas, because through this new found confidence of mine I still feel a bit silly for depending solely on a forest that has changed quite a bit. It’s been nearly two decades since I was stumbling blindly through it. 

Though making it past these next two weeks is more important at the moment. I have to finish several multi-media paintings for the art gallery before Thanksgiving break starts, which I have mistakingly procrastinated on for the past two months. As an art student usually does. 

So the next week is a jumbled up pile of memories of me running back and forth from different art studios on campus, stopping by the University gallery to arrange my painting on my wall every time I magically finish one, and cleaning splatters of paint out of my hair and off of my dorm room wall that will inevitably leave stains I will inevitably have to pay to have removed. In the end I have not had even a moment to think about anything other than the type of paint I’m going to smear across a scarily blank canvas. I’ve begun to hate the sight of gesso because it signifies the start of a new painting. A painting that has a deadline. Lucky for me today is the day I don’t have to see another blank canvas for the next week and a half. 

My last painting (out of a portfolio of ten) is a mix of acrylic and watercolor. Two of my favorite paints. It’s a landscape of a mountain range. The foliage being acrylic and the water being water color. I take a step back after painting the last stroke of green. The last leaf on the last tree in the last blank corner of the canvas. No gesso in sight. Perfect. I drag my portfolio tote over to the easel and shove the painting in with two others I had finished last night, sling it over my shoulder, and speed over to the gallery. My painting professor has been nagging me for the past few days to get everything in before tomorrow. Everyone in my class suddenly felt the need to be on time for once so I’m about four days behind them. 

The campus is nearly barren. With break in just two days people are starting to leave early. I don’t usually see people out and about anyway, but even the few people I do see around campus aren’t here. It makes me wonder who my professor is expecting to come to the gallery when more than half the students have already gone home. 

Anyway. I burst through the door of the East Fine Arts building, make a few lefts and rights, go down a flight of stairs, and push through the clear glass doors into the gallery bustling with frantic students. There is at least one student on every wall putting up nails or hooks, or rearranging their canvases to flow however they think looks best. I find my corner and set my portfolio tote up against the wall and scan the room to find my professor—who said he was going to be here to take a look at my arrangement. I spot him at a further corner speaking to a taller blonde man in a navy blue suite that—I observe—seems fairly out of place amidst the sweat pants and flannel donned students. I scurry over to them and call out softly to my professor.

“Uhh, Professor Jenson?” He whips around to face me. “Hey I uh, I’m sorry but when you have the time could you take a look at my arrangement?”

His eyes brighten up a bit. “Oh of course! Of Course!” He he turns back toward the tall blonde man with excitement. “Mr. Campbell this is June Butler. Her family is pretty well known within the state. Her dad owns the Butler Gallery down in Rauland. She’s very talented! You need to see the landscapes she paints. Absolutely beautiful.”

A small smile perks at the corners of Mr. Campbell’s mouth. “Since you’re praising her so much I guess I’ll have to check them out.” He states through this high-class sounding British accent.

An awkward expression forms on my face to match the smile on his. “You really don’t have to praise me like that, Professor. But thank you.” I peek at Mr. Campbell. “And you’re welcome to come take a look whenever you want.” 

I end the conversation there and hurry back to my paintings. I’ve never really been good with high praise like that. Call it being humble, shy, or introverted, whatever. I just like to paint. I dig around my bag for a hair tie and gather up my deep red hair into a short ponytail and begin hanging my last three paintings.

***

“Well fantastic job arranging your pieces, June.” Professor Jenson gives me a few friendly pats me on the shoulder. “Just switch number two and seven and it’ll flow just fine. I’m sure you’ll be able to sell all of them tomorrow night.”

“I hope so. I spent a lot of time panicking over how little time I gave myself to paint them.” I joke.

“If you need me for anything else before you leave just holler. I’ll be over at Chris’s station for fifteen minutes helping him fix some things.” He waves me goodbye and leaves for my classmate’s wall. 

I start packing my tote when I hear the sound of leather, wooden soled dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floors. “I see you’re packing up. I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

It’s Mr. Campbell. “Well, I mean, you could have looked at them even if I wasn’t here.” I slide the straps of my tote over my shoulder. 

“I guess it’s not the same when the person who painted them isn’t here.” There’s that subtle smile again. “And I wanted to ask about one of the paintings I saw on your wall. It caught my eye when I first walked in.”

I glance at my wall wondering which one he could be talking about. They’re all just my typical nature spreads. “And which one is that?”

He walks up to the wall and points to the painting with a cardinal sitting on the branch of an oak tree. “This one. It’s the only one with a bird in it. Such a specific one too. Why a cardinal and not a more common bird like a robin or a goldfinch.”

I don’t know whether to be surprised or confused by such a specific question. Or maybe I’m both. “Uhhh. I’m not really sure why. I guess I just like the cardinal the most. Guess I could relate to it since we both have red hair. You like it?”

He stares at the painting for a few seconds in silence as I stand there wondering why he’s fixated on a piece that was supposed to be lighthearted. Maybe he’s one of those art people who read way to deep into things? “Yeah I like it. It reminds me of somebody very important to me actually.”

“Oh. A family member?” I question with genuine curiosity. I don’t think anybody’s connected with one of my paintings like this.

He nods, still fixated on the painting. “Yeah. A family member. I haven’t seen them in a very long time though.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” What a weak way to console a stranger. 

Mr. Campbell shrugs. “It’s alright.” He heaves a sigh and turns to me. “Reserve this one for me if you can. I’ll buy it tomorrow during the open house.” With that he walks away leaving me with more curiosity than I’ve ever had after a conversation with a stranger.