Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
Brendon met Donna Pierceman through Mr. Wexler, his art teacher bringing her in one afternoon to speak to all his students. Donna wore a flowery dress that flowed and flowed about her curves as she nervously shifted during her presentation. Her hair—brown and bunned—wisped around her face in escaping curls. Her eyes held the same critical estimation as Mr. Wexlar’s and Aunt Laurel’s.
“The Bayscape focuses on local artists. We feature collections occasionally, but more often than not we do themed displays. We also have a section for students, from elementary to college, to give young men and women, such as yourselves, a chance to showcase your own work.”
Brendon didn’t raise his hands during the question and answer section at the end. Instead, he sat through fifteen minutes of Dylan asking things like, “What if you break a piece of art?” and “What if you hate what someone’s designed?” and “So anyone can put pieces on display in your gallery?”
“Not anyone. We expect quality, but we want to help motivate young artists who are stepping into the field.” Donna cocked her head in a such a manner that made Brendon think Dylan would never have anything on display inside The Bayscape.
After, Brendon lingered, fingers working over the straps of his book bag. Donna didn’t notice, a lot of her nervous bravado sluicing off her back as she checked her phone in a spare moment of relaxation. But Mr. Wexlar did.
He beckoned Brendon over and set him right in front of Donna Pierceman and lauded Brendon’s paintings and drawings, pointing out a few on the walls and waxing on about Brendon’s ability to perceive, to choose perspectives and focal points that put his work in an imaginative band that Mr. Wexlar hadn’t seen from a student in years. He didn’t exactly contrast Brendon with his classmates, but the inference was there, entirely obvious to anyone listening.
Donna put her colorful card into Brendon’s hand and covered his with her other, her skin smooth and comforting, reminding him of his mother’s. “Come by the gallery any time. I’ll show you around and talk to you about the student themes for the spring and summer displays.”
And Mr. Wexlar hounded him until he followed up.