The Masterpeice

Kate wanted to create a truly special painting – but where would she find fresh ideas to unlock her creativity?

Something was missing – that vital spark that defined you as an artist

Kate dabbed at the canvas, trying to capture the elusive light and the frothy rainbow of flowers against fresh green foliage. She had set up her easel in the woodland at the back of their house, amid the carpet of wild flowers, and was trying to capture their essence of hazy blue, yellow and purple in the slanted sunshine.

She loved the woodland at this time of year, filled with new life and the promise of a fabulous summer. And she loved the delicate perfume – like buttered cream crackers left outside on a plate – as the sun warmed the flowers.

This picture was different from the usual countryside landscapes she specialised in. She was pretty sure Joe at the gallery would like her new woodland series. But, somehow, something was missing – that vital spark that made a good painting great and defined you as an artist. Had she just spent too long working on the pictures?

‘Think of it this way: not being satisfied with your work will always keep you striving to be better,’ her husband Steve often told her encouragingly. He was right. Trying to create something outstanding was what kept her working. And she loved to be alone. Steve was very understanding, giving her plenty of space – but then he was happy enough pottering around in his garage.

After a couple of hours, she stopped and packed her painting things away.

‘I was about to bring you a sandwich,’ Steve said, as she walked back into the kitchen. ‘How did it go?’

She showed him the vividly painted canvas.

‘Wonderful!’ Steve had always been her greatest fan.

‘It’s not finished, but I’m relatively pleased with it. Anyway, I had to pack up. I’m visiting Evelyn this afternoon.’

‘Oh yes – she rang. Can you bring her a bag of mint humbugs? Her home help forgot them this morning.’

‘I’ll pick them up on the way.’ Evelyn Carstairs lived on the other side of town. Kate had met her just over a year ago when she’d decided she needed to give something back to the community and had volunteered to visit an older person. She’d been linked with Evelyn, a widow, and although she was meant to be bringing something into the 91-yearold’s life, she usually felt after her visit that it was Evelyn who’d given something to her. Visiting was never a chore.

She stopped off at the local shop and bought a couple of bags of Evelyn’s favourite sweets on the way to the sheltered complex.

Evelyn buzzed her in, and Kate found her sitting in her armchair by the balcony window, gazing out longingly over the communal gardens.

‘Hello, dear,’ Evelyn said brightly, looking as delighted as ever to see her.

Kate leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ve got your mints,’ she said, fishing them out of her bag. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘Lesley left a ginger cake this morning. We’ll have a slice of that,’ Evelyn said.

Kate made the tea and brought it in, along with the cake and two dainty, bone china cups and saucers.

‘How’s the blanket going?’ she asked as she poured.

On a small stool at Evelyn’s side was a multicoloured, crocheted blanket.

‘Slowly,’ Evelyn said. ‘My fingers don’t work so well these days.’

They sat in silence for a few moments as they savoured the cake and sipped their tea.

‘I love early summer,’ Evelyn said after a while. ‘There’s a robin who sits in the tree outside and sings to me every morning.’

‘Does he? That’s nice.’

‘I’ve named him Pip,’ Evelyn smiled. ‘I met my Albert near enough this time of year, you know. It was in Kent. My parents had taken me to visit an aunt, and he was working on a local farm. There was a fair on the village green. He asked me to dance, and I think we both fell in love before it had ended.

‘We got married as soon as I was old enough, and I moved to the country. We used to love our woodland walks. He taught me the names of all the trees and flowers and birds. He had to get up early to work on the farm and, in the summer, I’d be up at five o’clock with him so we could listen to the dawn chorus together.’

‘Did you have any children?’ Kate asked.

‘We couldn’t.’ Evelyn shook her head. ‘We never knew why.’

‘Steve and I have been trying for a while without success,’ Kate said, swallowing a lump in her throat as she spoke. ‘We’ve been wondering if it will ever happen. But we keep ourselves busy with our work.’

She felt Evelyn’s warm, dry hand on hers.

‘They can do so much these days to make it happen,’ she said. ‘You have hope.’

‘That’s true.’ Kate smiled, pushing any doubt out of her mind.

‘Albert and I loved each other deeply, so we got over it. But I do miss him.’ Now it was Evelyn’s turn to look downcast. ‘And I miss our cottage. But, as I got older, I couldn’t look after it or myself. It made sense to move into town, and now

I have so many lovely people taking care of me.’

‘I think you give more to me than I give to you,’ Kate said. ‘You’re always cheerful and busy, even though you can’t get around.’

‘There’s no point in being sad,’ Evelyn replied.

‘And you look at least 10 years younger!’ smiled Kate.

Although Evelyn’s face was deeply lined, her cheeks were full, the skin clear and her dark eyes twinkled like a child’s.

‘I bet you were a mischiefmaker in your younger days.’

Evelyn winked, and Kate laughed. As usual, when she left, she felt uplifted.

She delivered some canvasses to Joe at the gallery the following Monday morning.

‘These are great,’ he said, looking at them. ‘As always.’

‘I’m working on some new woodland landscapes at the moment,’ Kate said.

Joe nodded, looking pleased. ‘They’ll sell.’

She took a look around at the other paintings on display on the gallery walls. Most of them were landscapes – different, but just as good as hers. A nagging voice inside was telling her she needed something more distinctive, something that would take her in a more ambitious direction.

She discussed it with Steve that evening over supper.

‘I’m trying to capture something elusive in these woodland pictures, yet I find that I can’t,’ she said.

‘But your new paintings are stunning.’

‘Thanks. But I still feel there’s something missing…’

Kate had an idea the next time she visited Evelyn.

‘Evelyn, do you mind if

I draw you?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I think you’ve got the most beautiful, expressive face, and I’d like to try something different.’

‘Ooh! I’m going to be an artist’s model at 91!’ Evelyn said excitedly. ‘I hope you don’t want me to pose naked – because, let me tell you, that would not be a pretty sight.’

‘No,’ Kate chuckled. ‘Just make yourself comfortable and I’ll start drawing.’

She concentrated in silence, trying to get the proportions right and capture all the nuances of an elderly face. It had been years since she’d drawn figures.

It wasn’t a bad attempt, she thought when she’d finished the drawing, and, when she showed the result to Evelyn, the old woman was delighted.

‘My eyesight’s not brilliant,’ Evelyn said. ‘But I think it’s magnificent, and it looks like me – a happier me.’

‘Aren’t you happy?’ Kate asked, concerned.

‘As happy as a 91-yearold can be, with all my ailments and physical limitations and losses – but that’s what you come to expect at my age,’ Evelyn replied.

‘You can keep this.’

Kate tore the portrait out of her pad and handed it to Evelyn.

‘Thank you! Oh – listen…’ Evelyn said suddenly.

Kate listened, and heard the robin singing.

‘You’ve got excellent hearing, Evelyn,’ she said.

‘I’d love to hear the dawn chorus again. Or at least be in the countryside to hear the birds. We don’t get many birds around here.’

‘Come on, let’s have tea. I’ve brought some cupcakes,’ Kate said gently, the germ of an idea taking root in her mind. Kate lay awake in bed that night, thinking about her drawing and what Evelyn had said about the countryside and the dawn chorus.

Her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone as she tossed and turned until, eventually, Steve stirred at her side.

‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Clearly, you can’t sleep. What’s up?’

‘I’m trying to work something out,’ she said. ‘I think I might have found a new direction for my next painting, but the logistics are tricky. I’d need your help. I’d also need Evelyn’s cooperation, and I expect I’ll need to get in touch with the warden at the complex. I don’t even know whether Evelyn would be up to it. And the weather’s got to be good…’

‘For heaven’s sake, tell me what it is!’

‘I’d love to hear the dawn chorus again. Or at least be in the countryside’

Kate walked at Evelyn’s side as Steve manoeuvred the wheelchair over the uneven woodland path. The birds were chattering in the trees, and vibrant, green leaves were just beginning to unfurl, dappling sunlight on to a carpet of summer colour.

‘Oh!’ Evelyn exclaimed in delight, and her upturned face was aglow.

‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ Kate said. ‘We’re so lucky to have this patch of woodland at the edge of town, and right outside our back garden.’

‘It’s just like home – like mine and Albert’s cottage 40 years ago. And listen to the birds! I can’t remember the last time I heard so many birds.’

Steve wheeled Evelyn to where Kate had set up her easel.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind sitting here for a couple of hours while I paint you amongst the flowers?’ Kate asked her again.

‘My dear, it will be heaven. Take as long as you like,’ Evelyn smiled. ‘I do love summer, all the life around me. It should make me sad, but the joy still rises and I can almost imagine I’m young and in love again. Thank you, Kate.’

Kate smiled. Evelyn’s face, radiant with joyful appreciation of summer’s burgeoning new life, was the very thing she’d wanted to capture on canvas.

She felt uplifted as she took up her brush and began.

THE END