Artistic License

Author’s Note:

From time to time, I write stories with a male writer — usually another Lit reader. I really enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth and hearing the male perspective. This is the first joint venture I have published on Lit and hopefully not the last. I’d really welcome any constructive feedback by PM, so please do get in touch.

Thanks to Nev_Enough for writing this with me.

Artistic License

“I’ve drafted that email, David. Would you like to read it?”

The Assistant Curator no doubt thought she would be doing more important things than writing form letters when she took on this position. Her black, figure-hugging dress, inky pixie-cut hair and deep red lips certainly made her look the part, but in reality most of her time was spent editing spreadsheets and following up on David’s “inspired” whims. She knew that most young women in the industry would kill for her job though – and David knew it too. It was not that David deliberately sought out menial tasks for Amanda to do, but if he was honest, he did get some pleasure from the subservient dynamic between him and this attractive young woman nearly half his age. David sensed that maybe Amanda enjoyed the power play too. He seemed to have that effect on women.

“I’m sure it’s fine. Just make sure it doesn’t hold me to anything. I don’t want to be bound.”

You on the other hand, Amanda… A smirk almost played out on his lips as he let the double entendre skip through his mind.

“Of course, David. I’ve made it clear that there are no guarantees.”

“Ok. Let’s send it then. Please block out the times in my calendar when we hear back from people, but no more than four in a day – and keep them all close by. Put them tentatively in your calendar as well – I might want you to come along.”

The idea of meeting with artists and helping plan an exhibition thrilled Amanda, almost as much as the possibility of having Amanda join him for a drink after a day of studio visits, appealed to David.

With imperceptibly flushed cheeks and a grateful smile, Amanda returned to her desk and hit ‘send’ on the email, delivering it straight to the inboxes of thirty-four early and mid-career female artists across the country.

Dear ******,

The Art Gallery of New South Wales is undertaking a significant survey of contemporary female Australian artists whose practices engage with the performative role of the female body in the formation of public and private identity/ies. We are planning a series of studio visits with selected artists from the Inner West in the next two weeks and would like to confirm your interest and availability on Friday 19th at approximately 2.00pm.

With a significant volume of research to undertake in the development of this exhibition, we are unfortunately unable to accommodate an alternative day or time. I should also stress that a studio visit by myself or one of my colleagues should not be construed as an offer of inclusion in the exhibition.

Yours sincerely,

David White

Senior Curator, Contemporary Australian Art

AGNSW

*****

Katie stared at the email on her laptop screen so hard, that the words started to blur. A visit from AGNSW? The Senior Curator himself?

Was this spam or genuine? Her heart rate started accelerating and her mind was racing with possibilities. She pulled her long brown hair out of its ponytail and fiddled with a piece, twisting the ends of a strand between her fingers. It was something she did subconsciously when she was nervous or excited.

She swivelled on her chair and looked across her art studio. She called it a studio, but it was just a sunny granny flat behind a large two-story brick house. The owners of the property were an older, professional couple, who rented Katie a room in their home — one that used to belong to their adult daughter.

When she came to view the bedroom, she had seen the external building from the window and asked what they used it for. When they told her it sat empty, her blue eyes lit up and she cheekily asked if she could take a look.

One step inside and she knew the space was perfect. Full of natural light, bright and airy, with a separate bathroom. She offered them double the monthly rent, to include the granny flat and she asked to turn it into an art studio. She did not expect them to say yes, but here she was, two years later.

Katie had earned her income through selling her paintings at local markets for more than five years. She also rented out her art to interior designers, local restaurants and a few offices. She often received large commissions through word of mouth or from someone who had seen a piece of her work on display.

She earned a reasonable salary, but not enough to buy her own place. Now hitting her late 20s, she wondered if she would be content to live like this forever. She had long given up on the possibility that she would be “discovered” – there were just too many talented artists around for her to stand out.

This email though…….it made her believe she had a chance — slim? Yes, but still a chance. Nervously she picked up her phone to call the AGNSW. She needed to be sure this was not a hoax.

*****

“Australian Contemporary. Amanda speaking.”

The phone number that Katie had dialled, from the bottom of the email had put her straight through to the Curatorial Department. This was the kind of number usually shrouded in secrecy to prevent a constant onslaught of uninvited exhibition pitches from novice painters and young hopefuls.

“Um, hi. Is David there?” Katie regretted how both unsure and familiar the question sounded as soon as it escaped her lips.

“Can I ask who’s speaking?” Amanda – a fraction less agreeably, replied. Katie was being screened.

“Ah, sure. It’s Katie Cummings. I received an email from David about…”

The name registered with Amanda just before she cut Katie short.

“Oh right – you’re one of those on the email list… the studio visit next week, right?”

Amanda’s words were for David’s benefit whose attention she had caught through his open office door. An exaggerated shake of her head, with eyebrows raised announced to David that he didn’t need to take the call.

“I’m afraid David is unavailable right now. I can make a note of your availability for the visit though if you like. Unfortunately, we can’t offer alternative times though. There’s quite a few visits to get through.”

Amanda got a kick out of subtly undermining any significance the artist on the other end of the phone might have assumed about the email she had received. The gradual deflation was evident in Katie’s response.

“No. I mean yes. Of Course. Friday the 19th at 2 p.m. is fine. I just thought David might need my address… my studio address, I mean.”

“Absolutely,’ Amanda affirmed, “I can grab that from you.”

A slight pause punctuated the conversation while one last stab formed in her mind and rolled off her tongue. “You know, it might not be David who attends anyway. I’ll pass on the information to whoever gets the task that day.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks,” Katie managed to utter. She gave Amanda her address, before being wished a good day. Amanda entered the details in their calendars and promptly forgot the short exchange.

David had heard snippets of the conversation. He’d returned his attention to his computer screen after Amanda’s hyperbolic caution, scrolling through jpegs of works by artists whose studios he was soon to visit.

He knew quite well what Amanda could be like, even though she’d only worked in the Department for about six months. Part of it was no doubt an insecurity about her position at the Gallery. She probably felt a need to elevate herself to appear more important than she was. He did wonder though if some of it was also jealousy. Artists were always vying for David’s attention and among those was a generous contingent of aspiring young female artists. David particularly enjoyed that attention. He didn’t mind the idea of Amanda’s jealousy either.

*****

Katie ended the call and let out a whoosh of breath. That Amanda person was really rude and her tone was so dismissive. She tried not to let her excitement be quashed since the email was genuine. The AGNSW was really coming to see her!

Oh God, she hoped that snobby cow wasn’t the one doing the viewing. Who was Amanda anyway and had that awkward phone call ended Katie’s chances, before they had even begun?

Katie did a Google search for the Art Gallery and clicked their website link. She went straight to the “About Us” section and hoped to find a photo of Amanda, so she could put a face to a name. She imagined a woman in her mid-fifties, lonely and sad with a boring sex life. She chuckled to herself as the image of her year 9 head teacher, from her old school appeared in her mind. Disappointingly, there were no images of the team on the AGNSW website and Katie brushed aside her bitchy thoughts and focused her attention to her art.

What pieces should she showcase? She had over a dozen finished paintings and some were stored at her parent’s house. She was always running out of space in the studio and had to drive back and forth to their place every month, depending on market days or direct sales and rental requests from her website.

She picked up her phone and scrolled through photos of the paintings she had taken to her parents’ house. There were a few there that she loved and wanted to show the AGNSW, so she made a mental note to drive over to their place at the weekend to pick them up.

Her eyes flicked over to a huge piece of work that was currently taking up half a wall of the studio. It was nowhere near completion, and she had given herself a deadline of two weeks. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated. Could she get it done, with less than a week to go? It was showing a lot of promise and she felt excited every time she worked on it. She had that tingling sensation that she was creating something quite special, but did she want to rush it and possibly ruin it?

Katie, like other artists she knew had spurts of intense creativity where she would paint from morning until past midnight for days on end and then when that spark disappeared, she’d feel absolutely no inspiration for weeks. It would be a huge shame if this current piece could not be judged as a completed piece and Katie felt greatly inspired to finish it for Friday’s meeting.

For six days, Katie barely slept as she painted round the clock. It was like someone had lit a fire up her ass and she could not stop. Her parents had even called in to her studio, with five of her paintings to save her the drive to their home on the northern beaches.

Finally, the night before the meeting, it was done and she was overjoyed. She hoped it would impress the AGNSW. Feeling mentally and physically exhausted, she stumbled into the tiny bathroom and splashed water on her face. She looked at her reflection and took in her messy hair, pale face and bloodshot eyes. Jesus, she looked a mess. Thank God they were judging her work and not her appearance!

Tomorrow was going to be a significant day, but thankfully the meeting was in the afternoon. She could have a lie-in, put on a decent outfit and even attempt to put on some make-up. Hopefully she’d be presentable for whomever they sent from the Gallery.

*****

The Uber was a black Audi A6 with a tan leather interior and smoky grey tinted glass. David could never understand why people who drove cars like this would bother schlepping around town picking up random strangers for a measly twenty-five bucks a pop. Some were rentals, he guessed, while maybe others needed the side hustle just to meet the finance on the vehicle. Whatever the arrangement, it reeked of uncouth aspiration.

David wasn’t wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. He wasn’t poor either, but what he lacked in zeros on the end of his bank account, he made up for with cultural credibility. He knew his stuff – and he knew the people who made the stuff he knew. It was why the benefactors swarmed around him at exhibition openings and private Gallery events. There was only one Senior Curator of Contemporary Australian Art at Sydney’s premier Art Gallery, after all.

“I hope they’re not all that underwhelming,” David said to himself as much as to Amanda.

She was sitting behind the driver while he slumped back in the other corner of the back seat.

There was nothing that impressed David in the studio they’d just left – a space shared by two artists in the back streets of Marrickville. At least they’d shown him paintings, he’d conceded. The majority of those on his long list worked with video or photography or performance – and mostly in a way that demanded thought rather than experience, but even these two painters seemed to be illustrating ideas, as opposed to making their audience feel anything.

“Where to next?” he quizzed.

David’s eye locked onto Amanda’s slender wrist as she reached into the bag on the floor between her feet. Retrieving a single sheet of A4 paper displaying both images and text, David’s glance this time lingered on the inside of her knee while Amanda read from the page.

“Katie Cummings. SCA graduate, 2014. Painter. Kind of Jenny Saville meets Louise Hearman – but with a little more of Henson’s eroticism, perhaps. I don’t know. They’re not exactly sexual, but there’s definitely something ‘fleshy’ about them.”

David had already stopped listening. Instead, he’d continued his inspection along the soft white skin of Amanda’s inner thigh – perhaps some twenty silky centimetres – until it disappeared under the hem of a houndstooth mini skirt. The slim-fit white blazer she wore – a rare departure from her usual black attire accentuated the shape of her smallish breasts, its plunging neckline suggesting she might not be wearing anything else underneath.

“She’s not far from here,” Amanda continued, but David was only half hearing her words.

While the car crept through the city’s laneways and side streets, he found himself imagining what might be waiting under Amanda’s clothing. White lingerie today, he guessed. Perhaps plain white panties? Lace g-string? Something sheer?

David could envisage her getting ready for work at home. There would be a full-length mirror angled against the wall. He wasn’t picturing her naked – not this time. She’d just be standing there in her underwear, her slender figure waiting for the outfit laid out on the nearby bed. Red lips. Black mascara. Fingers tracing the length of her torso from the bottom of her throat, across the skin between her breasts, down to just below her navel.

He could go on like this all day.

The sudden stop jolted him back to reality. David’s face warmed as he met Amanda’s glance and wondered how long she had been watching him.

“I guess this is it,” he said, eager to remove himself from the car first, with time to adjust the bulge in his pants before Amanda joined him on the footpath.

*****

Sunlight hit her face through the gauzy white curtains on her bedroom window and Katie groaned into her pillow. I really should get blackout curtains, she thought to herself.

Rubbing her eyes, she peered over at her bedside clock. Nearly 11.30 a.m. She sat bolt upright. Shit! She’d slept through her alarm. Dammit, she was hoping to be up at 10 a.m., to tidy her studio and arrange the paintings in some kind of order.

She slumped back onto the bed and gave a weary sigh, he/she will just have to take her and her paintings as they found them. She had crawled into bed at 2 a.m. that morning and her body clearly needed to catch up on sleep. Feeling lethargic, she slowly rolled herself out of bed. A shower. A long cold shower and she would be wide awake.

After shocking her body with icy water, Katie felt more alert and put on a pale blue wrap dress. It was quite plain, but hugged her curves and showed off a hint of cleavage. She really didn’t want anything too garish or bold to distract them from her work and hoped to just blend into the background.

Without thinking, she grabbed a hair tie in one hand and started to gather her thick hair up into a ponytail. A force of habit to keep her hair back when painting. Halfway through pulling her hair into the elastic, she stopped. No, she’d let it hang loose for a change. The dark tresses tumbled back down and she finger combed the waves to release any knots.

She disliked wearing make-up, but her face still looked pale and there were faint circles under her eyes. A light foundation and concealer fixed all that, together with a tiny bit of blush on her cheeks and pale pink gloss on her lips, so she didn’t look like a faded picture. She had naturally long and thick lashes, which was a blessing as she loathed mascara. It always clumped and formed black marks around her eyes.

Downstairs was all quiet, as her landlords had already left for work. She grabbed a cup of tea, then went to the studio where she spent the next hour tidying up and arranging her work around. With such limited space, there was only so much she could do and with ten minutes left before the appointment time, she ran back into the main house. From the studio, she would not be able to hear the doorbell and she did not want to risk missing them.

As the seconds ticked by, she was feeling more and more nervous and found herself going to the bathroom twice with an urge to pee.

“Calm down, Katie. If they don’t like them, it’s ok. You still have your business, a solid income and a good customer base.” Her mother’s words rang in her ears and she knew it was true, but it didn’t make her feel much better right at that moment.

The doorbell rang loudly, just as she was about to head to the bathroom for a third time and her heart rate kicked up a notch.

She ran her fingers through her hair again and pasted on a bright smile, before opening the front door.

Her smile faltered when she was greeted with not one person, but two smartly dressed people on the doorstep. One was a tall man, who looked rather serious and had the good looks of someone who knew it. He wore a fitted dark blue suit jacket that showed off his broad shoulders and a crisp white shirt underneath. This contrasted with a pair of slim cut pale blue jeans that hugged his long legs and a pair of black and white converse sneakers. It was kind of a preppy chic look that worked on him.

Next to him, a head shorter in height, was an attractive brunette, whose bright red lips were pursed together in distaste. She wore an expensively tailored suit and impractical 3-inch nude-coloured heel.

“Hi. I’m Katie……” she waited for them to introduce themselves.

*****

“Amanda Spark. Assistant Curator, Contemporary Australian Art,” the brusque woman offered, through those attention demanding lips. “And this is David White, Senior Curator, Contemporary Australian Art, Art Gallery of New South Wales.”

Ahhh so this was the rude cow she had spoken to on the phone, thought Katie. Not a headmistress looking type at all, but young and pert. Pretty too — if only she smiled and showed some enthusiasm for being there. Even her introduction was stilted and formal — like someone reading from their LinkedIn profiles. David however, offered her an easy smile which ignited his blue eyes and made Katie feel a little self-conscious.

The presumptuous Amanda took a step forward in a move towards the front door.

“Oh no. Sorry. My studio is around the back.”

Katie could have taken them through the house, but the furnishings and decor of her landlords’ place, set a scene of someone approaching their 30s, still living with their parents. Too many unnecessary assumptions and questions to address. She pulled the door behind her and almost skipped down the three steps that funnelled them away from the house.

Banishing a moment of fluster, Amanda turned on her heels to shadow Katie as she led the pair across the lawn and down a side driveway. A more casual David trailed a few steps behind, initially taking in the mid-century modernist stylings of home and surrounding yard, only to be captured moments later by the view of the two young women parading down the concrete runway in front of him.

His mind had already disappeared into a reverie brought on by a glimpse of Amanda’s milky inner thighs in the car just now. The vision of her from behind – mini skirt hugging the cheeks of her ass, threatening to ride up and reveal the smooth curve of her flesh that crowned her slender legs – was enough to again re-route some of the blood from his brain to his groin.

It was the other woman that surprised him though. David typically went for stylish women – dressed to be noticed and not afraid to let their bodies demand their share of the attention. That’s not to say that Katie was unattractive. She definitely had something. She was curvier than Amanda – perhaps more feminine, but the way she presented herself didn’t invite the scrutiny that so many others in David’s usual circles did.

Katie stood a little taller than Amanda. Her flowing hair cascaded down her back while her blue dress stopped just above her knee rather than just below her ass. The tie that kept it from unravelling perched itself in a bow on her hip and David couldn’t help, but muse that a single tug on its trailing length would drop the yielding material to her sides, framing her torso like drawn apart curtains.

Maybe Amanda’s appearance had already set the mood, but David had found himself equally engrossed in the figure leading the two of them into her backyard. He should be thinking about art. Instead, he was thinking about flesh.

The length of Katie’s hair provided just enough interval to anticipate the shape of her ass. A little fuller than Amanda’s, it displayed a contour that invited the slow caress of an open palm – that could be cupped and squeezed and maybe even given an unexpected and sharp smack. The blue cotton hugged Katies hips and tapered in at her waist while the length of the dress fell as a soft sheet shrouding her upper legs. Below this, smooth calves gave way to elegant ankles sitting atop a dusty blue pair of ballerinas with small white polka dots.

“It’s just through here,” Katie’s hair flicking over her shoulder as she turned to meet David’s eye with a smile. The twist made her back gently arc while the smile rounded her pale pink lips, parting them momentarily to reveal a row of perfect teeth that David swore her tongue briefly played with.

The trio passed through a walkway just in front of a 1960s garage door where another single story, freestanding building lay in wait.

*****

“Here it is!” Katie said brightly.

She opened the door to the studio and leaned against it to stop it slamming shut and with a dramatic sweep of her hand, waved them inside.

“Please come inside. It’s a modest little space, but I love it.”

She waited as Amanda strode through the doorway first — why was she always in front and acting like she was in charge? David followed behind and he looked slightly amused and that expression gave his face a boyishness that was very appealing. He brushed past her a little too closely and she could smell the faint whiff of his aftershave.

These two people right here, could take her career in a new and exciting direction. Katie felt jittery with nerves and she remained hovering by the door, as though contemplating escape.

The room was not much bigger than a modest living room. In fact, that was no doubt its original purpose. Empty of furnishings aside from an easel and workbench against one wall, a paint-smeared stool in front of it, and an old lounge suite and coffee table shoved into the corner, the space was dominated by examples of Katie’s work.

David’s eye skimmed the wall immediately to his left. Across it were scattered a swathe of gestural figurative works. Most showed female forms set in domestic interiors – predominantly clothed or occasionally naked with poses and props positioned to maintain some level of modesty. Self-portraits in the main, David surmised, even though there was a genericism about the subjects’ appearances. The compositions suggested a friction between the figure and their setting – almost an irritation or struggle.

Occasionally David thought he spied an expression of frustration or dissatisfaction in the sitter’s face – almost as though they felt trapped by their surrounds. But then there was something being held back in the works too. They were a little too safe. David wished they went somewhere more definite or dangerous. Instead, they felt like they were made to be palatable – sellable – and that was reason enough for him to dismiss them irrespective of their technical competence and unexpectedly fresh palette.

There were more works like this on easels and on Katie’s workspace. Most of these were smaller and David moved past them to train his attention on a larger piece that had been mounted on the far wall. This was more interesting indeed. Amanda was already taking in this painting too, albeit from further back in the room, and Katie sensed a subtle shift in her supercilious attitude.

David took a step closer towards the work. A pale turquoise wall pushed forward a dirty crimson armchair that was positioned just off-centre in the picture plane. Small, tarnished studs dotted the front panels of the arm supports, irregularly positioned with textured paint as if applied from a distance – almost as if shot at the grandiose piece of furniture from afar.

To its right, several of Katie’s tamer paintings made a cameo, leaning against the wall on their sides, seemingly discarded. A small terracotta pot sat next to these on the floor, bathed in sunlight from an aperture that didn’t make it into the work. Wilted – sadly – in its expressively distorted orifice lay a small assemblage of frangipani, their white petals fringed with brown decay while their yellow centres persevered with their fight for attention. A length of pale blue fabric lay discarded on the floor on the other side of the chair, clumped without care on the cool-grey tiled floor.

These details took a back seat, however, in juxtaposition to the figure occupying the chair. While far from photographic, it was unmistakably Katie. Her torso lay where her backside should have been. Legs slung over the arm with toes pointed towards the ceiling, her inverted head tumbling off the front of the seat while her brown hair spilled towards the floor, pooling on the abandoned textile. The figure wore simple yet elegant shoes with a slight and slender heel – a slightly darker shade than the material on the ground, albeit in pink – and a necklace that appeared to be fashioned from black leather or rubber, gravity pulling it downward, causing it to tug across her throat. Sheer white knee-high stockings were the only other accoutrements that the figure – Katie – wore.

David tentatively took a couple of steps backwards, glancing over his shoulder at Amanda. She was looking his way too. A small smile tugged at her lips, with an expression of uncertainty and excited anticipation combined. David took a seat on the two-seater couch in the corner. Amanda followed his lead and made herself comfortable in the adjacent single seater, carefully crossing her legs as she perched herself on its fringe.

David continued his study of the painting. He admired the tactility of the figure’s skin. The paint had both physical form and seductive appeal. A hand lay limp across the woman’s stomach, the angle only partly obscuring a tuft of brown pubic hair at its edge, fingers falling to her side. Breasts flattened and spilled off her chest. Lips parted in an expression of exhaustion or exasperation. The woman’s eyes fixed though, squarely on the viewer in a way that confronted any voyeurism that the pose might have invited.

“Tell me about this one Katie… this work.” David gestured towards the canvas.

Katie walked over to the painting, unsure where to start. She was always more comfortable creating her work, rather than talking about it. This painting felt even more foreign to her – although paradoxically, also more honest compared to the other works in the room.

David’s hand rested in the empty space next to him on the couch, while he lounged back. Was it an invitation to take the seat between David and Amanda? Katie wasn’t sure. All eyes were on her now though, as the gravity of the moment started to dawn on her. This was her chance to make an impression.

*****

“I….it’s…..” she trailed off, momentarily lost for words. How to explain this piece without exposing herself? Two pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly. Did she have much choice?

A few weeks back, Katie was suffering from insomnia and had gotten out of bed and went straight to her studio. She had just ended one of her worse trading months in six years. The weather had been atrocious, and three of the four Sunday markets had been cancelled. She also felt her work was in danger of stagnating and she had not been able to find any inspiration. Her frustration and anger with herself needed an outlet for release and as she wasn’t the type of person to scream or cry, she went to the studio and started painting.

She took a deep breath and tried to articulate her thoughts about the painting. She knew she had to lay herself bare for David, at least, so he would believe she had potential.

“I was feeling a little lost and I was running out of new ideas for my work. This painting….it represents my internal struggle with my art. I know a lot of what I produce is very commercial and uninspiring. Those are the paintings you see in this piece — discarded because they are worthless…even to me sometimes.

Frangipanis are my favourite plants and the one in the painting reflects my creative side, which is usually the best part of me. Lately I can’t seem to find those creative ideas and the harder I search, the more they fade away.”

Katie’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to explain the main part — her self-portrait.

“You’ve probably guessed that’s me on the chair. I was dejected when I started this piece. The pressure to keep producing good work is so immense at times, that I feel strangled by it…..”

Katie’s voice trailed off. She felt exposed and vulnerable and feared she had just made herself sound like a cliché — a burnt out and jaded artist.

*****

This wasn’t exactly the kind of response David had hoped for and he didn’t think Katie was revealing the whole truth. Sure, the discarded decorative works against the wall were uninteresting, and anyone – well, anyone with a skerrick of creative and cultural nous – would get sick of looking at them pretty quickly. As for the flowers… well, they presented a curious subtext, David guessed, but it was Katie’s figure – her naked form – inverted and supine, that captured his attention and kept it there. The pose was passive, yet the eye contact was assured. There was paradox in play here and the more David looked, the more engrossed he became. At first it was the palpability of the paint that lured him in. Now he couldn’t stop examining the body laid before him.

The scale of the canvas meant that Katie’s figure was almost life-size. The unusual arrangement of limbs and torso on the opulent chair was disarming and each had to be inspected in detail to make sense of how it formed part of the whole. There was something refreshingly natural and honest about Katie’s body and the more David looked, the more magnetising it became.

David could almost feel the weight of Katie’s arm on her stomach and drank in the way the slight round of her tummy gave way to its resting length. Her fingers, inactive yet outstretched, appeared as if waiting for something to touch, while her neck lay exposed and vulnerable. The volume of Katie’s breasts fell to her sides while her reddish-pink nipples defied the downward pull acting on the rest of her body. David found the whole arrangement passively yielding, but Katies eyes told a different story – one of invitation, or perhaps even a dare.

David was going to have to prod a little for Katie to dig any deeper.

“I’ve got a few questions Katie, if that’s ok? Amanda, can you take notes again?”

Amanda reached into her bag and rummaged around. Her movements became more frantic as she realised, she had left the notebook on the studio table in Marrickville.

A look of irritation passed fleetingly across David’s face.

“Shit! I’ve left the notes at the Gallery. I’m so sorry David. I can type notes on my phone instead?” she asked, hopefully.

“No, I want you to go back and get it. You have time, as Katie and I can continue to chat while we wait.”

Amanda sprung to her feet, gathered up her things and hustled towards the studio door without looking back. The door clicked shut behind her and David offered another of his disarming smiles at Katie. His gaze shifted from Katie’s naked body on the wall to the dutiful expression on her face across the room.

“So, Katie, tell me more about this pose. Tell me about that chair.”

His line of questioning made Katie feel uncomfortable and she felt the need to flee from his sharp gaze. It was his job to dissect her work and she had expected it, but being around him made her jittery. Was it his authority that had her feeling flustered or maybe it was his eyes? Those brilliant blue, intelligent eyes didn’t miss a beat and as he stripped down her work to the bare canvas, she felt him mentally stripping her in person, so that she too lay naked and vulnerable.

Still a little unsure, Katie skipped over the first part of the question. “The chair? Oh, it’s a favourite of mine. I’ve had it for ages. It’s actually just through here.”

She disappeared into an adjacent room, dragging sounds projecting through the open doorway before the velvety red upholstery edged its way into view. In a moment, it was centre stage in the studio. She perched uncomfortably on the arm, chewing her bottom lip and waited for the grilling to continue.

“This is the chair……hmm?” David said sardonically, with one eyebrow raised.

“Ah…yes….sorry, I thought you’d be interested to see it.”

Katie was mentally kicking herself. Why on earth would he want to see the chair? He had asked her about her pose and why she had painted herself draped over the stupid thing — not see it in person. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to find focus. He was clearly not happy with her original explanation and needed more depth, but she was struggling. She cleared her throat.

“Look, there really isn’t much more to say about the painting. I’m not sure what you want me to tell you…..I’m not hiding anything or holding anything back. When I paint, I don’t really think. I feel, so that’s just what came from within.”

Silence. She dared look at David’s face and his expression was stormy. She squirmed a little on the armrest and then she found herself slithering down until she was sat with her ass on the seat and both legs over the arm of the chair, not too dissimilar to the pose from the painting, except her head was not dangling over the seat and her torso was still rather upright.

She realised how awkward she must have looked to David and started to move clumsily out of her position, but his voice rang sharply in the studio.

“Stay exactly as you are.”

*****

“You don’t really think… you feel,” David paraphrased the words Katie had uttered moments earlier, slowly rising from his chair as he did.

David took a couple of tentative steps in Katie’s direction, his eyes fixed on her face to begin with, gradually shifting to follow the form of her body rendered supine across the piece of furniture.

The echo created between the painting and Katie’s actual pose was enough to reignite David’s bodily fascination in the young woman, the sensuality inherent in Katie’s work transposing itself to the figure under David’s gaze. He continued his slow approach.

“Maybe it’s not about words. There’s a kind of surrender in this image – a submission, but also an offering of sorts. There’s something in this image that breathes a lasciviousness – a surface that dares to be touched even while…,” he trailed off, “…a non-resistance… a corporeal giving-in.”

Katie wasn’t sure if he was talking about the painting or her own physical arrangement in the chair. It was unsettling, but also quietly electric. He was close enough to touch her now, if he so chose.

David’s figure towered over Katie, his strong hand only inches from her shoulder while he studied the rise of her thigh and turn of her ankle. His eye flicked toward the painting then back to her form. He was deep in contemplation and she was unsure of what she should do.

Again, he glanced over at the painting, returning his eye to Katie’s thigh. Almost unconsciously he stretched out a hand towards her knee, stopping just short of touching her before catching himself

“May I?” David casually enquired without meeting her eye, Katie’s nervous nod providing consent before she realised what she was doing. His fingers continued their reach.

The pad of David’s thumb pressed against Katie’s inside knee while his fingers wrapped around its circumference. “A little further apart,” he almost whispered as he directed Katie’s nearest leg further along the arm of the chair.

As the back of her leg edged along the velvet surface, the light blue cotton of her dress slid to reveal more of her pale thigh and the fracture in her wraparound dress separated slightly. A satisfied simper flirted with David’s lips. For a moment Katie thought he might run his fingers across the surface of his handy work. Instead, he turned his attention to her upper body.

This time without asking, David took Katie’s left wrist, moving to direct her arm across her stomach. “Wriggle down,” he commanded, his left hand cupping the back of her neck.

Unsure of how far she was meant to go, she met David’s eyes while he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry – I’ve got you.”

*****

David’s voice was hypnotic and Katie found herself complying with his requests. When his hand touched her knee, she almost jolted in shock. His fingers were hot and branded her skin. He pushed one of her legs further down the arm rest and she felt cool air waft up her skirt and between the juncture of her legs.

Did he want her to mimic the pose in her painting? The answer became clear as David held her neck and guided her into position. The more her torso slithered down the seat, the more the skirt gaped open. She was aware that her lacey black panties were in danger of being on display. She could also feel gravity at work, pulling her breasts down so the milky globes became more visible at the v of her neckline. She had an urge to pull the dress together to cover her cleavage, which was ridiculous given that David knew exactly what her breasts looked like.

Then, a sudden thought occurred to her. What if Amanda were to walk in on them now? What on earth would she think, to see Katie sprawled on the chair like this? This fear and self-consciousness made her start to sit up, but David’s hand behind her neck was firm and his other hand was holding her shoulder down. A shiver ran down her spine. Fear mixed with sexual excitement.

Finally, her head was dangling over the seat and her hair was hanging, almost touching the floor. The whole room was tilted upside down and she could only see David’s jean covered legs. He stood close. So close that she could touch him if she so desired.

There was something both erotic and mortifying about the situation, but the liquid flooding her pussy told her that her body wanted to be touched.

“David?” she panted breathlessly. An open invitation for him to make the next move.

His hand slipped from behind Katie’s inverted head, her mouth slightly open, teeth pressing down on her lower lip. The pressure seemed to emphasise Katie’s pout and David’s mind immediately flashed with a desire to trace a finger along her swollen lips – both those on her face and those between her legs. Instead, he again took hold of Katie’s wrist, lifting it from its resting place at the side of her stomach and securing it with his left hand against the back of the chair, about half-way up its rise.