SWNOVELS Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE COMMUNITY WORK
Fresh off the triumph of her solo show at the prestigious Bergström contemporary collection in Paris, Jasmine Delacroix felt reinvigorated upon returning to New York City.
The whirlwind of events from exposing her vindictive rival Lucinda’s schemes to the overwhelmingly positive reception of her deeply personal artwork – had imbued her with a newfound sense of confidence and purpose.
It was her friend Beth who first suggested volunteering as an art instructor at the Chelsea Community Arts Center.
“It could be so rewarding to share your talents and give back,” Beth had said warmly. “Plus, interacting with different walks of life might spark new creative inspiration for you.”
Jasmine had to admit the idea intrigued her. Though she had achieved her lifelong dream of a major gallery exhibition, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to embark on a new artistic journey.
And so it was that she found herself making her way to the unassuming brick building, canvas tote filled with supplies, tingling with equal parts excitement and trepidation.
The center’s sunlit lobby was abuzz with activity as Jasmine stepped inside. Vibrant student artworks adomed the walls, and the air held a tangible creative energy.
At the front desk, a heavyset woman with a cloud of curly gray hair glanced up from her computer.
aw
“Good morning! How can I help you, dear?” she asked in a warm, gravelly tone
“Hi, I’m Jasmine Delacroix – the new volunteer art instructor?” Jasmine replied, trying to exude more confidence than she felt.
The woman’s face split into a wide grin. “Ah, yes! Diego has been simply bursting with anticipation about your arrival. I’m Miriam, the director here.” She rose and extended a soft, pillowy hand. “Welcome aboard!” Jasmine shook it gratefully. “Thank you so much for having me. I’m really looking forward to working with-
“Jasmine! Ma chérie!” An exuberant voice with a thick French accent cut her off. A rather eccentric- looking man swept into the lobby, arms flung wide. “The renowned artist has graced us with her presence at last!”
He was dressed in an outlandish ensemble – a crimson beret atop his mop of steel gray curls, an electric blue blazer paired inexplicably with canary yellow pants, and a silky lavender cravat. Jasmine couldn’t decide if he was simply colorblind or intentionally committed to clashing.
“You must be Diego,” she ventured, extending her hand, “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
Instead of shaking it, however, Diego seized her hand and pulled her into an embrace, enveloping her in a cloud of musky cologne and cheek kisses.
Jasmine stiffened, caught off guard by his exuberant lack of personal space.
Bienvenue, bienvenue!” he exclaimed, finally releasing her. “We are so fortunate to have an artist of your immense talents joining our humble ranks.”
Miriam chuckled indulgently. “Diego has been singing your praises since we booked your exhibition tour last year. He can be…a bit much at times.”
“Not at all, I absolutely love passion for the arts,” Jasmine replied diplomatically, still recovering from Diego’s ebullient greeting.
“Passion?” Diego tsked, wagging an accusatory finger “My dear, you underestimate me! I am obsessed, consumed, a smoldering inferno of artistic devotion!”
He abruptly swept his arm in a grandiose, all–encompassing gesture. “And this domain shall be the
crackling forge where we fan the flickering sparks within these ripe young minds into brilliant, searing
flames!
Jasmine blinked owlishly, trying to process his melodramatic words. “I…certainly look forward to stoking those flames together.”
“Excellent!” Diego crowed, slinging an arm around her shoulders and steering her firmly away. “Now, come, let me introduce you to our rough diamonds waiting to be exquisitely sculpted…”
As they wove through the hallways, Diego rattled off a breathless rundown of the center, its programs and benefactors, its esteemed alumni, and precisely how many calories per minute one could burn weaving a traditional French tapestry. Jasmine only caught about half of what he said.
At last, they reached the main activities room, where a cluster of mismatched chairs and easels had been arranged haphazardly. Four wildly dissimilar individuals were already seated, eyeing the new arrivals with varying levels of interest.
“Mes amis! May I present the incomparable Jasmine Delacroix, fresh from leaving the art world of Paris utterly deconstructed by her brilliance, Diego proclaimed grandly. “She has generously agreed to share her luminescence as our newest instructor.”
A stout woman with a round, rosy face and a woolen shawl around her plump shoulders waved cheerily from the front row. “Welcome, dear! We’re thrilled to have you.”
“This is Agnes,” Diego said, waving a hand airily. “A failed opera diva with the soul of a poetess reincarnated.”
Agnes laughed, the sound like tinkling bells, and reached to pat his arm affectionately. “Oh you charmer, Diego. I’m just here to keep my hands busy after retiring from the stage.”
“Hmph, says you,” Diego sniffed, already moving on. “Over here, we have Marcus.”
He indicated a lanky young man clad in ripped jeans and a faded Iron Maiden t–shirt, who regarded Jasmine through a floppy curtain of jet–black bangs with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
“Marcus wishes to parlay his doodles into the fine art of tattooing,” Diego went on. “As my protege, I shall elevate his pedestrian sketch work into the lofty realms of body canvases that transcend the–”
“I just think tats are cool,” Marcus muttered, slumping lower in his seat.
Diego tutted as if personally offended and turned to the next student, a polished, immaculately coiffed woman in a pale linen pantsuit who reminded Jasmine of the Park Avenue elite she used to mingle with at her ex–husband Ethan’s firm events.
‘This is Penelope, one of Manhattan’s hardest–hitting corporate lawyers, who has decided to bravely embrace her long–stifled artistic side in the autumn of her years.”
Penelope’s expression remained skeptical, assessing Jasmine through narrowed eyes. “I’m just here learn a new hobby, not embrace my inner child or whatever new–age mantra you’re peddling.”
“Of course, of course,” Diego soothed with an airy wave. “And finally, we have Jacob.”
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He directed Jasmine’s gaze toward a gawky teenage boy with braces, floppy brown hair, and the ubiquitous glow of a smartphone clutched in his hands. At Diego’s introduction, Jacob’s head jerked up, eyes reluctantly leaving the screen to flit over at Jasmine.
“The young visionary has opted to expand his formidable technical skills into the organic realm of
pigment and brush,” Diego proclaimed grandly.
Jacob simply shrugged one shoulder, seeming supremely unbothered as he replied, “My mom thinks analog art will be good for me or whatever.”