Canvas Blues – XXXII: Present

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXII: Present

Jennifer Craugh walked them out and stood on her doorstep to watch them leave. Her head remained cocked as if she attempted to solve the question of what Orion Livesey had truly wanted. Brendon stared at her in the side mirror as Orion pulled away, out into the summer morning and through the young neighborhood with its just-planted trees and too many roses.

“She’s been in those woods,” said Orion.

“You can’t be sure. Not when you frame your questions about dreams.”

“You can’t be sure. I can.”

Brendon shot him an annoyed glare, but Orion didn’t react.

“Aren’t you worried those wolves might tear her apart?” Continue reading

Coffee & Conversation: What profession do you think is the most undervalued today?

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This has been discussed by a lot of people, many of whom are more intelligent and knowledgeable than I am, but I think it still needs to be said: teachers, especially those of younger children, are incredibly undervalued.

Professors teaching at a higher level are given a great deal of respect, but the lower one looks, the less respect teachers receive. Glance at a few pre-school teachers and no one thinks anything of them, which drives me crazy because the younger a child is the more capable they are of learning and the faster they learn. With each passing year, children mature, gain experiences, and their brains becomes more firm and less versatile. Most people accept that it’s easier to learn a second or third language when quite young vs as an adult, and yet, for some hapless reason, we still completely dismiss and disregard all the people responsible for those young minds.

Those first few years at school (and the time before, of course) are some of the best times to help children advance, to encourage them to go beyond simple rubrics. They are far more capable than the school systems in the U.S. allow them to be and this is demonstrated by the low salaries, low appreciation and dismissive behavior concerning teachers.

Teachers put in a lot of themselves, much of their own time and money outside their typical hours are spent on their classroom, their students and even correspondence with parents. The good ones put their students first and are obvious by how those kids will continue to stop by long after they no longer have those teachers. Continue reading

Canvas Blues – XXXI: Yesteryears

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXI: Yesteryears

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. Continue reading

Canvas Blues – XXX: Yesteryears

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXX: Yesteryears

Tori Kel didn’t happen all at once, these things never do. Robbie looked first, furtive glances, shy smiles, quiet conversations after classes that Brendon shared with him but Casey didn’t. So Brendon got to see Tori Kel bend down and hand a dropped pencil back to Robbie and say, “Like your Batman folder, man.”

And Brendon got to see Robbie huff and fumble over his words even though those words were only, “Thank you.”

Because Brendon shared that English class, he also got to see Robbie linger at his desk every day, puttering when he should have been packing up. Got to see Robbie smile and bravely say “Hi,” one morning and, “Did you do the homework?” another.

Got to see Robbie swallow, broken voice uneven as puberty had snuck up on them all, and lean forward like he wanted to go ask Tori Kel whether she wanted to go to the dance together on Friday. That was Monday. Tuesday, Robbie breached that ocean of distance and asked, but Brendon wasn’t there to see.

Casey’s response didn’t happen all at once either.

Denial made him cranky and at first, Brendon thought, there went that rubber band again, springing Casey away from Robbie through whatever argument they’d had.

He’d say things like, “She won’t last,” and “She’s not even pretty,” and “You don’t think she’s pretty, right, Bren?”

And Brendon would nod along, because he agreed, Tori Kel wasn’t the sort of person he thought about at night. Plus Casey liked that answer and would give an approving nod and sidle closer with conspiratorial murmurs, the smell of him overwhelming Brendon’s world for those few precious moments.

~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter: XXXI

Canvas Blues – XXIX: Present

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXIX: Present

The painting Jennifer Craugh had bought had been done in shades of gray and green with hints of maroon and purple if one knew where to look. A wolf pack in the mist that Brendon had entitled Come From Wisps on account of the glows he’d embedded in the depths of the forest to give the painting better contrast. A mysterious piece, of a world that might exist anywhere. Or nowhere.

Jennifer Craugh, on the other hand, had not a mysterious bone in her body. Bright blonde hair, skin the color of an alabaster statue, eyes blue as the summer sky and manner open, honest, and welcoming.

“Brendon?” Her surprise melted away into warmth. “How are you?”

They exchanged pleasantries, Brendon with some reservations, in Jennifer’s entryway, down her hall, and into her living space. Orion seemed right at home, his voice a constant companion as he responded to Jennifer’s inquires and turned them back around fluidly.

“You’re here to see the painting?”

“A professional curiosity. My client is considering sponsoring Brendon and tasked me to check the durability and satisfaction of some of his sales.”

Jennifer cast a glance over her shoulder, but there existed no suspicion in her gaze. “Your client couldn’t go wrong with a Kotes painting.” She winked at Brendon. “You can tell him satisfaction is a high in this customer.”

“I most certainly will tell her that,” Orion corrected fluidly, stepping around Jennifer and up to the painting, leaving nothing but the smell of his aftershave—sandalwood and iron, though the iron might have been fancy on Brendon’s part. “This is incredible. Such detail in the brush strokes, every hair on the beast’s body. How many colors did you use on these creatures?” Continue reading

Coffee & Conversation: Would you rather be hated or forgotten?

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The Book That Was Forgotten

There was this book once that I read and thought, meh. Didn’t go back and touch the author’s other stories and instead moved on.

About a year later, I saw a book that interested me. I bought it, read it, and thought, it’s okay. Not amazing, but definitely good enough to read through a couple more of the author’s books.

I later discovered that I’d already read one of this author’s books because it had been saved in my ebook.

I don’t remember this author’s name, only a few vague details about the books.

The Book That Was Hated

Then there was this other book I once read that I thought, wow, this author is a sexist, bigoted asshat.

Never bought a book from that author again.

I do remember that author’s name.

The Books That Are In Question

Now, obviously, if I had a choice my books would be remembered and liked (can I say loved?). That would be the best outcome. But in the decision between Hated or Forgotten, I’m torn. Continue reading

Canvas Blues – XXVIII: Yesteryears

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXVIII: Yesteryears

Girls at the races during humid autumn nights wore skimpy shorts and loose, flowy tops. They wore hair down, letting it fly and whip when the cars zipped past. Some of them would disappear into backs of cars and come out clothes askew.

Brendon had never noticed before what all those girls did. Not even Casey’s sister remained on his mind after she’d inevitably vanish with friends or soon-to-be-friends who had something powdery or smoky to offer. But he couldn’t help but notice when that seemed to be all Robbie saw, eyes wide in a combination of fright and aspirations.

Couldn’t help noticing because Casey noticed and ragged on Robbie mercilessly. Brendon had multiple sketches of Robbie’s face from that night and a few after, and every one caught the brightness in Robbie’s eyes, the rampant confused desire burning out from within. And Casey looking on, a similar desire unhidden, yet somehow gone missed, right there to be read by anyone who knew the language.

Lewd jokes rippled through their tiny friend group. Continue reading

Coffee & Conversation: What do you like to discuss with other people?

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I like to discuss difficult or erroneous plotting or character issues. Though discuss might not be the best term for what I like to do when I run into trouble. It’s more of a talking-at someone.

Here’s what I’ll do:

1) Get the person caught up with all the characters and setting and what’s been happening and what might have happened or what kinds of things are going to possibly happen and who the people are and what kinds of things they’re motivated by, and so on and so on… [This is usually answered with confused stares that attempt to look polite.]

2) Answer questions that all my pronoun usage, non-linear narrative babbling has caused.

3) Pitch my problem and all the reasons why it’s a problem. Usually I’ll state somewhere in there that my story is a mess, that it’s unsalvageable, that I’m a horrible writer, etc. All the boring, melodramatic stuff that spills from our mouths when we’ve hit a figurative wall. Continue reading

Canvas Blues – XXVII: Yesteryears

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXVII: Yesteryears

Brendon had long replaced the sketches of Casey when the tapping came on his window. He woke sluggishly to a pale face outside, a face full of promise. Casey’s whisper through the screen a few moments later came fast and breathless.

“There’s a night tonight. Big Man Skiv and Taylor L. are going to tear up the street. Becks has a cooler full of beer and a hankering not to go alone. Come on.”

And that night, a cool September twenty-eighth, only five months before Tori Kel smiled and said yes to Robbie, was the first night the boys snuck to the track all together. Not the first night for Casey, not by a long shot. Not even the first time Casey had dragged Brendon, but the first time Robbie—straight-laced Robbie and his worried eyes—finally gave in and slipped his bedroom window and snuck through the fence to join them. Blame an argument with his father for that one.

They piled into Becky’s car, glitter shining on her eyelids and a familiar scent, that Brendon did not identify as weed until later, ghosting about the interior. She had a low voice, but a high laugh as she went roaring through the neighborhood, the engine yowling like a cat in heat (Casey’s words) and the moon like a fingernail hanging onto the sky for dear life. Continue reading

Canvas Blues – XXVI: Present

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXVI: Present

They started locally, which wasn’t difficult as many of Brendon’s original sales had come from studio exhibitions. He sat in Orion’s passenger seat, conscious that the BMW cost a great deal more than Brendon tended to make in an average year. The leather seats stuck to his arms despite the air conditioning and Orion had paused the audio book he’d been listening to out of politeness sake.

“Thriller?” asked Brendon, randomly running a finger along his side of the center console.

“Non-fiction.”

“That sounds like you,” murmured Brendon.

Orion laughed. A quiet sound, but deep, deep in his chest, a rumbling that Brendon felt all the way to his bones. He clutched at the sketchbook in his lap. Orion had stared at the crumpled spiral-bound and graphite-smudged book, but hadn’t said a word.

“Am I so easy to read?” asked Orion.

“No,” murmured Brendon. “But when things fit, they fit.”

“And how does that…fit…with me?” Continue reading