SWNOVELS Chapter 132
Chapter 132
Fanny's face darkened. She had never imagined that a mere painting would
prompt Naylor to invoke the name of B Aster, but she quickly regained her
composure, saying, “Well then, if Mr. Aster is available But isn't he in a meeting
right now?”
The current exhibit was meant to celebrate the culture of the Superiority Country,
so the Art Association was taking it very seriously, with endless meetings to
discuss the details.
Navlor coughed and glanced at his watch, “About another half-hour, I reckon.”
Fanny hummed in response, then added with a pointed tone. “I'm curious, does
Mr. Finegan know the artist of this painting?”
Her question made the underlying message clear to everyone present.
Someone spoke up. “Why would a nobody's work be critiqued by a giant of
Watercolor Painting? What's the story behind this artist?”
Lorna's face turned even paler. She looked to Cordelia, “Lia, I want to go home.”
Cordelia supported her, her eyes clouded with confusion and helplessness.
It seemed Lorna was hurt, but Cordelia, ever the awkward comforter, could only
nod, her voice unexpectedly gentle, “Okay”
She helped Lorna to the exit.
Mrs. Brown tried to console her, “Mrs. Delaney, your painting is quite impressive;
don't take it to heart.”
Lorna mustered a weak smile and staggered out.
The car ride home was steeped in silence. Cordelia didn’t know how to break the
quiet. She fiddled with her phone and sent a message. [Hey, are you free?]
Mr. All-Round replied, [What's up?]
LearnLover said, [My mother’s painting was criticized today, and she’s feeling
down. How do I comfort her?]
Mr. All-Round replied! suggest you say nothing.)
Cordelia paused, then after a moment, a longer message arrived.
Mr. All-Round said,[Your mother always aims to maintain the image of a good
mother in front of you. She wouldn't want to show her vulnerability and
frustration. Any comfort you offer might only add to her sense of shame.]
Cordelia was convinced, [Okay] After sending the message, she recounted the
incident to Sanderson.
Sanderson replied, [I'm heading home now.]
The car soon arrived at their house.
Lorna's smile was more bitter than tears. As soon as they entered the living
room, her phone rang.
Cordelia, with her sharp instincts, overheard the voice on the phone, “Lorna,
someone wants to buy your painting.”
Lorna's eyes lit up. “Who?”
The voice hesitated, “It's a stranger. He asked for your work by name as soon as
he walked in, but he... he...” There was a sigh, “He said, based on Fanny's
comment, that your painting is all technique, no soul. So, he’s offering fifty
bucks.”
Even mass-produced artists’ works commanded more, particularly for a bold
landscape like Lorna's, which
should fetch at least a few hundred, not to mention the cost of framing.
Fifty bucks. It was an insult.
Lorna's fingers tightened, a struggle evident in her eyes.
Cordelia grabbed the phone, “Sorry, my mom's not selling.”
The caller paused, then agreed, “Alright.”
After hanging up, Cordelia handed the phone back.
The crushing blow to Lorna's confidence was too much to hide, she stumbled
into her room, bypassing Mathilda, who emerged to speak. Lorna headed straight
upstairs to her studio without a word.
Mathilda was puzzled, “What happened?”
Cordelia explained the events of the exhibition again.
Mathilda exhaled deeply, “Even the best can rust after eighteen years. But Fanny
is clearly trying to break your mom, make her lose her confidence first!”
In professions like painting or writing, the work is tied to the artist's state of mind.
If Lorna lost belief in herself, what would come next?
Cordelia looked upstairs, worried.
Just then, a car pulled up outside, and Sanderson strode into the house,
“Where's your mom?”
“In the studio upstairs.”
Without another word, Sanderson headed up, “I'll check on her.”
Mathilda and Cordelia exchanged glances, and she sighed, “Back in the day,
your dad was the least noticeable. among your mom's suitors. Turns out she
chose right. Why am I telling you this? Go upstairs and do your homework, Lia.
Don't worry about your mom, she'll be fine.”
In the studio, the window was open, letting the breeze flutter the white curtains
and rustle the papers on the
desk.
Lorna sat on the sofa, her elegant frame wrapped in a lilac dress, which only
highlighted her growing frailty. She stared at the brushes and paper that had
once been her life, haunted by Fanny's words, “It seems the artist hasn't painted
in years... the brushstrokes are hesitant and stiff...
No wonder her confidence was shaken — it had indeed been eighteen years
since she'd last picked up a brush.
Eighteen years ago, after having her child, she'd turned on the TV to catch a
glimpse of a renowned art exhibit and became engrossed. By the time she
snapped back to reality, the nanny had vanished, and the sleeping baby in the
crib beside her was gone.
No one knew how guilty she felt, she blamed herself entirely, which is why she
put away her brushes forever.
Eighteen years of aimlessness had stripped her of all her vigor.
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=
It was Cordelia’s return that had
given her the courage to paint again.
But now, she was shattered once
more. She clenched her fists, her
heart aching, wanting to cry. Once a
rising star in Watercolor Painting,
now her work was worth no more
than fifty dollars... The content is on
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chapter there!
At forty-two, her aspirations for a resurgence felt too late.
She stood slowly, moving all her paintings to a nearby brazier.
She should never have painted again; it was an affront to Watercolor Painting.
She wasn't up to it; it was time to let go....
Just as the tension in the room reached its peak, the door burst open and
Sanderson stormed in. “Lorna, what
12.05
Chapter 132
on earth are you doing?”
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He swooped down to snatch the
lighter from her hand, snuffing out
the small flame before it could catch
anything else alight. Frantically, he
gathered the scattered sketches
from the fireplace, his eyes then
P . “ »
locking with hers. “Lorna!” The
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the latest chapter there!
Lorna could hold back no more. With a sob, she threw herself into his arms. “I
can't do it anymore, I just can’t paint... I'm done, I'm truly done...”
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Holding her tightly, Sanderson
stroked her back, his heart aching
with a bittersweet pain. In a soothing
. “ 8
whisper, he consoled her, “Alright, no
Fetes )
more painting. Lorna, I've been
: 5 eo) fos
thinking, maybe you're striving so
: )
hard. because you feel insecure. I'll
transfer my shares in the company to
you, the house, the savings,
0 s »
everything will be yours...” The
content is on Novelxo.org! Read
the latest chapter there!
Upstairs, the sound of Lorna's crying reached Cordelia’s ears as she stepped
onto the landing.
She paused outside the studio, before retreating into the sanctuary of her own
room.
With a deep breath, she picked up her phone and shot a message to Painter,
“Could you please check something for me? Is the painting “Frostfall* at your
exhibition really lacking in depth?”
Painter's response came back almost instantly, “No problem, I'll go have a look
right now.”
Chapter 133