SWNOVELS Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR DREAMS AND AMBITIONS
The next few art classes were relatively uneventful without Diego’s over–the–top presence. Jasmine led her students through some still life exercises and basic techniques with minimal drama. But it wasn’t long before the chaotic energy returned with a vengeance.
Two weeks after the blowup, Jasmine arrived to find Diego already holding court, sporting an outrageous new look – a skintight scarlet leotard, mismatched argyle leg warmers, and a vibrantly patterned beret askew atop his wild silver curls.
“Ah, there she is!” he crowed upon spotting Jasmine, fuchsia lips quirking into an exaggerated pout. “Our delicate flower has deigned to grace us commoners once more with her cultivated presence!”
Jasmine merely arched one eyebrow coolly. “It’s good to have you back too, Diego. I trust you’ve… refocused your artistic energies in a more productive direction?”
His amber eyes glinted with a hint of defiance. “But of course, ma chérie. I am the very vision of restraint and decorum!”
To demonstrate, he abruptly flung both arms out in a grandiose flourish – sending a loaded paintbrush sailing straight into Marcus’s sneering punk visage.
“Dude! What the hell?” The teen’s shout was muffled by the bright purple streak now adorning his cheek.
“Oh.. whoopsie.” Diego tittered, entirely unapologetic. Do forgive me, I simply got a tad carried away the throes of passion!”
“You got that right,” Penelope muttered darkly from the corner.
Jacob openly gawked at the spectacle, all pretenses of jaded disinterest forgotten. Even sweet Agnes looked mildly scandalized behind one mittened hand.
“Now, now, no need for such stuffy fussing!” Diego went on blithely, sashaying towards the supply closet with an overdramatic swish of his athletic hips. “I have just the perfect antidote for reinvigorating our creative zest!”
Ignoring the chorus of dubious grumblings behind him, he retrieved a heavy pottery wheel and bega lugging it into the center of the room, grunting ostentatiously with each awkward step. Managing to heft it into place, he straightened with a flourish, chest puffed out in self–satisfaction.
“There! We shall embrace the raw, primal power of sculpting directly with our hands! Let the unbridled energy of creation flow through our bodies as–”
His impassioned spiel ground to a halt as the pottery wheel abruptly roared to life, sent spinning violently by his elbow smacking the pedal control, Wet clay slopped wildly in all directions as Diego squawked and flailed.
Jasmine reacted instantly, lunging over to slam the wheel’s power off as her bewildered students scattered to avoid the earthen shrapnel assault. An eerie silence fell, punctuated only by the piteous squishing of Diego’s muck–drenched form.
“Well,” she said evenly, surveying the damage with one arched brow. “Now that the artistic passion has been appropriately stoked, should we try channeling it onto actual canvases? In a slightly more controlled manner this time, perhaps?”
Under Jasmine’s firm yet lighthearted guidance, the rest of the session took on a lively, productive energy. As she circulated the room offering pointers, she struck up more personal rapports with her students beyond techniques.
“Agnes, these floral studies you keep revisiting are just exquisite,” she complimented warmly, admiring the older woman’s textured brush work. “They’re so delicately romantic – is there a special inspiration behind these subjects?”
The plump retired soprano’s rosy cheeks dimpled in a fond smile. “Why, nothing so grandiose as artistic statements, I’m afraid. I simply adore indulging my lifelong love for blossoms in oils and acrylics these days.
She let out a lifting peal of laughter, patting Jasmine’s arm affectionately. “In my opera days, besotted benefactors were always showering me with lavish bouquets after shows. I suppose you could say I’ve cultivated quite the penchant for capturing each bloom’s unique, ephemeral beauty on canvas before it fades away.”
Jasmine felt her own grin widening, captivated by Agnes’s twinkling anecdotes. “How perfectly poetic… can virtually hear the soaring arias behind these multidimensional petals.”
A few easels over, Marcus continued meticulously etching harsh lines of ink onto his slate of shaded abstracts, brow furrowed in concentration. When Jasmine approached, he barely afforded her a sideways glance, chin jutting up sullenly.
“Your compositions are really compelling, Marcus,” Jasmine began, hoping to break through his prickly exterior. “That bold interplay of darks and lights, those vehement brushstrokes…there’s a real raw power behind them. Where do you channel those intense emotions from when you work?”
For a long beat, she didn’t think he would respond at all. Just when she was about to give up, Marcus gave a nonchalant one–shouldered shrug, dislodging his shaggy bangs.
“Dunno. I just get frustrated a lot, I guess. With stupid authority figures and societal expectations and whatever.” He flicked his wrist, adding a thick stroke of crimson to one gnashing, fanged shape. “My art’s basically an outlet for rebelling against all that oppressive BS.”
Jasmine arched one eyebrow, absorbing his cynical admission. “Well, rage and protest can certainly catalyze incredibly potent, evocative work when wielded purposefully. I think you’re really tapping into that subversive spirit in a visceral way with pieces like this.”
The faintest hint of a smile seemed to ghost across Marcus’s lips at her observation. Whether he registered her compliment or not, he didn’t outright rebuff it.
Seizing her small victory, Jasmine moved on to where Penelope was engaged in another of her severe, monochromatic geometrics, lips pursed in acute concentration. The chic lawyer didn’t even glance up upon Jasmine’s approach this time.
“You’ve got remarkable technical skills and grasp of negative space, there’s no denying that, Jasmine remarked lightly, studying the stark, angular forms. “What compelled you to gravitate towards this minimalist, precise style?”
Penelope’s hazel eyes flicked up briefly, appraising Jasmine through her impeccably groomed fringe of blonde bangs. “Thank you. I find unnecessary embellishments and arbitrary flourishes
ther tasteless – they only serve to obscure the true impact of form and proportion.”
She made a few deft strokes, accentuating the harsh verticals of her composition. “In my legal profession, as in my art, I’ve cultivated a partiality for unvarnished structure and efficiency over ostentation. It allows the substance to speak for itself,
Jasmine couldn’t argue with the logic it aligned with the poised, discerning persona Penelope exuded. Before she could inquire further, the woman’s crisply arched brows knitted slightly, and she seemed to decide.
“Though I’ll confess this…movement towards a more personal creative outlet has been an experiment in
learning to allow some vulnerability to exist alongside my outward polish.”
She glanced up once more, her coolly tailored visage cracking slightly to reveal an unguarded flicker of wistfulness.
“My professional life demands a certain rigid decorum of me at all times. Perhaps subconsciously. artistic expression allows me to explore…softer undercurrents I rarely acknowledge.”
While Jasmine hadn’t expected such a candid glimpse beneath Penelope’s urbane veneer, she respected the insight enormously Offering the other woman a warm smile, she moved on to check in with Jacob.
Much to her surprise, the typically detached teenager had become quite engrossed in layering vibrant acrylics across his canvas.
Bold washes and frenetic splatters swirled into an abstract yet oddly cohesive composition of color and kinetic energy.
“That’s an explosive style you’ve really immersed yourself in there,” she remarked approvingly. “I love the sense of raw, intuitive expression totally unbridled.”
Jacob glanced up, flushing slightly at the unexpected praise. “Uh, yeah…I guess it’s just how I tend to vibe when I get in a flow state, you know?”
Jacob went on, shrugging one shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll just start slinging paint without overthinking it too much and see what feels right.”
“An admirable instinct to trust in the artistic process,” Jasmine encouraged warmly. “There’s a refreshingly visceral immediacy in your brushwork that really resonates.”
Before Jacob could brush off her words entirely, the jarring clatter of metal on tile rang out across the studio, drawing all eyes.