Василиса Чмелева – The Universal Passenger. Book 1. Someone Else (страница 4)
At the exhibition, as with any other event, she chose a refined outfit. A black blazer, a black silk dress, and black high-heeled pumps. For accessories, she opted for emerald stud earrings and a thin titanium ring on her pinky.
Stepping out of the car, Sophia decided to take a look around. The studio was located not far from the main street, but it was hidden from passersby by winding alleys and iron staircases. The brick building, in the spirit of the old town, seemed to say "new things are born here, but the old is honored."
The iron door creaked open with a heavy groan, and Constantin stepped into the light. He was wearing a green checkered shirt with rolled-up sleeves, worn dark jeans, sneakers, and a few strokes of paint on his wrist.
“
“Sophia! I didn’t think you were so punctual. There’s still an hour until the opening,” Van said a bit flustered but his eyes showed joy.
“Yes, I can’t help myself. It’s probably a professional habit,” she shrugged.
“Well, everything is almost ready. Please, come in,” Constantin invited her.
Everything inside was just as Sophia had imagined. A well-lit space, with light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and walls sconces. Gray loft-style walls and a long dark chocolate leather Chesterfield sofa sat in the middle of the room by the bar, waiting for its guests.
“This used to be a glass factory,” Constantin said, standing beside her and surveying the studio. “When the factory closed, I was able to buy the space cheaply and customize it for myself. As a bonus, I used leftover glass to update the stained glass windows and create a wall in the shower.”
“In the shower?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, I live here on the second floor. I don’t stray far from work, so to speak.”
“Interesting approach. What is today’s exhibition dedicated to?” Sophia asked.
“Inspiration at night,” Van replied. “That’s why I started at sunset, so visitors can transition smoothly from evening to night, noticing new details in the drawings.”
“Do you prefer to create at night?”
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough daylight to express the depth of my thoughts on the canvas. That’s why I harness the night with its endless supply of ideas and possibilities. Under the light of the lamps, my drawings take on a completely different meaning and energy – something that can’t be captured during the day.”
Constantin gestured around the studio with a sense of parental pride.
“He’s still trying to hold on to his dreams,” Libby sighed, lounging provocatively on the sofa. “Last night, he jumped up as if scalded and started drawing twins.”
“Twins?” Sophia asked aloud.
“You have a good eye,” Constantin smirked. “This piece is brand new; I literally painted it last night. What do you think?”
He led her to the painting, which depicted two girls holding hands. It might have seemed unremarkable, except for the fact that he had painted them as albinos.
“That’s not all,” Constantin said proudly. “When the sun starts to set, we’ll definitely come back to this piece.”
Sophia glanced warily at the sofa, where Libby lay with her tail draped over her shoulders like a shawl.
“Well, what did I tell you? At this rate of progress, I’ll be sent back and demoted,” she sighed.
As the sun set, Sophia was surprised to see how many people had arrived. Men and women of different ages gradually filled the hall. The bartender, who had arrived half an hour before opening, was already mixing drinks, entertaining the guests with his skilled hands.
Sophia ordered a martini, noticing that it was a popular choice among the women, and slowly walked around the studio, trying to find something to hold onto in her search for a solution. The task was indeed no easy feat.
Over the centuries, the Ephor had encountered various opponents. There were bankers, soldiers, circus performers, stablehands, and plantation slaves. But they all shared one common experience: they had endured a profound shock that began to return their memories of past lives.
Now, however, the situation was different. According to available information, Constantin had grown up in a well-off family, comfortable and well-cared-for. He had done well in school and hadn’t lacked attention. Thanks to Libby, he possessed a strong charisma. He wasn’t afraid of moving, and any task seemed easily manageable to him. He wasn’t prone to depression. So what could have triggered such a rapid return of memory? That was what she needed to find out.
Continuing to walk through the space, Sophia tried her best not to pay attention to the other guides. There were many of them, and they quickly recognized her as an Ephor, but to their credit, they didn’t bombard her with questions. Some glanced at Libby with sympathy. Rumors in High Society spread as quickly as they did among ordinary people.
One by one, the paintings captured Sophia’s attention. The chaos in Constantin’s mind was skillfully reflected in his art-house works. To grasp the depth of his creative ideas, she had to scrutinize every detail, missing nothing.
In one painting, a young girl with enormous light blue eyes was depicted. Gold leaf adorned her eyebrows, and her long white lashes seemed to reach for it. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow through the canvas. A teacup rested atop a significant portion of her head, with her ear forming the handle of the cup. She was completely naked, modestly covered in strategic places by steam rising either from the saucer in her hands or from her own skin.
Next to her, there were duplicates of the girl, only twenty years older. As the girl approached old age, her porcelain skin dulled, and the wrinkles on her face and cup resembled cracks and chips in fine china. The sparkle in her eyes faded, and the saucer in her hands had completely vanished. Now, the elderly woman, broken in places and standing completely naked, embodied the wear and tear of body and spirit. Tea leaves were painted on her cheeks, resembling tears.
“Simply astonishing, isn’t it?” Libby asked, standing to Sophia’s left. “How finely he perceives this world.”
“There’s something to this painting,” the Ephor replied, without much enthusiasm. “As for perceiving the world, people are incapable of seeing the truth, no matter how hard they try.”
Libby looked at Sophia in surprise and rolled her eyes.
“They are the truth, Sophia. Their passion for life is proof of that, don’t you think?”
“Passion—” the Ephor pronounced the word almost with disgust. “What is passion, anyway? Just banal animal instincts, nothing more.”
“Everything is passion on a mental level, just as everything is art. You can find pleasure in creation and even greater ecstasy when your work is accepted and appreciated. The eroticism between people is simple and clear. But what you feel from creativity is something more.”
“His state is borderline. In his creative fervor, Van is mad,” Sophia replied, not turning her head toward her companion.
“But he’s mad just enough to return. Yes, within him lives that dark matter that envelops him, merging with him into a whole and forming what everyone sees – the artist.”
Sophia turned to Libby. Before her stood someone far from the carefree, rosy-cheeked giggler she had imagined. She had become no less mad than her protégé. A sinister smile mixed with pleasure lingered on her once-adorable face as she eagerly examined the painting.
“
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Constantin tapped his glass of whiskey with a glass straw and jumped onto the pedestal, interrupting Sophia’s thoughts. He had no shortage of agility. “I want to thank you all once again for coming today. It means a lot to me to share my work with you. Because what’s the point of drawings if they’re gathering dust in an abandoned factory?”
People applauded appreciatively. Some whistled, while others laughed.
“I certainly hope you’ll look at all the paintings and choose your favorite. But let me begin the presentation with a piece that came to me randomly one night. Therefore, it simply must be first, as the sunset’s orange light filters into the studio.”
Constantin pointed to the very painting of the twins.
The crowd began to chatter and moved closer to the artwork. The Guides also fell silent, contemplating.
“When I was painting this piece,” Van started the backstory, “I initially struggled to reflect an important detail, in my opinion. Under the night’s lamp light, the skin of our heroines shimmered white. Their light hair was also easy to see. But it was only with the arrival of dawn that the truth revealed itself in their gaze.”
Constantin theatrically approached the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows and pulled back the sheer curtain.
The crowd gasped, and Sophia tensed alongside them. The twins' eyes glowed red. They were no longer the innocent little girls; instead, the painting unveiled them as foreboding Flavuses, cloaked in shadow.
“It looks quite creepy,” someone murmured from the crowd.
“This is amazing! What a play of colors,” another voice breathed out.