Short story: The Paintbox Ladies

If Daisy was going to win an art prize, she was going to have to mix things up a bit

Another evening at Miss Beech’s mercy, Daisy thought. Instead of the promised ‘professional artist’ running the Paintbox Class, the council had roped in her old art teacher from school.

‘I wish she’d retire to her allotment,’ Daisy whispered to her friend Karla. ‘Remember how high my hopes were when we signed up? I thought, with a professional tutor, I’d improve my technique, experiment a bit.’

She scrutinised the painting of the bowl of fruit she’d been working on. ‘This is Miss Beech’s idea of art, not mine.’

‘We need some encouragement,’ Karla said, ‘not put-downs.’

Put-downs being Miss Beech’s speciality, Daisy thought.

The other students were already working on their canvases. Daisy glanced across at the newest member of the class. Julia had joined only a week ago and her painting looked nearly finished. She’d mastered the bloom on the grapes and the banana looked almost real.

Disheartened, Daisy mixed yellow with a bit of green, trying to get the colour right. The lighting was poor because two of the overhead neon strips were still out, and she couldn’t quite match the colour of the pear.

‘My proportions are all wrong,’ Karla said. ‘The fruit, I mean.’

Miss Beech hovered over Julia. ‘Excellent, my dear,’ she said. ‘I won’t be surprised to see your work win a prize.

They continued chatting like old friends.

Daisy sighed. Every year the council put on an exhibition of local artists. The cash prizes would go to the usual winners, but she’d be thrilled to be commended.

Miss Beech appeared beside her. ‘What are those fruits?’

‘They are pomegranates. I wanted them instead of grapes.’

‘Is that so,’ Miss Beech replied. ‘And what about that yellow-green blob?’ ‘It’s the pear.’ ‘It doesn’t look very appetising, Daisy?’

‘What a way to spend a Wednesday night,’ Karla said when Miss Beech had turned her attention to another victim. ‘I could have been at

‘She’s killed my enthusiasm – I won’t come again’

home reading a Peppa Pig story to the twins.’ She stared at her work, as if willing it to turn into something else. ‘She’s killed my enthusiasm

– I won’t come again.’

‘If she offered constructive advice, the class would be bearable,’ Daisy said. ‘But that’s never been in her nature.’

The urn had come to the boil. Women drifted to the kitchen alcove and made themselves tea or coffee. One kind soul had brought along a packet of chocolate digestives to share, and Daisy and Karla took one each.

‘Isn’t Gillian wonderful?’ Julia said.

Daisy couldn’t decide whether to eat her biscuit or launch into a character assassination of Miss Beech. But the way Karla’s eyes narrowed in warning made her turn her attention to the biscuit. ‘She used to teach me in school, so I still think of her as Miss Beech.’

‘Me too,’ Karla said. Julia took a delicate sip of her tea. ‘I’ve had a look at both of your canvases,’ she said. ‘Do you think pottery might be more your thing?’

Almost too astonished to speak, Daisy said,

‘It’s early days yet.’

‘I’ve picked up art so easily that Gillian says I’ve got a natural talent. But then I’m good at everything. My mother thinks I was born under a lucky star.’

‘Nice for some,’ Karla said under her breath.

Daisy didn’t dare look her in the eye in case they both burst into giggles.

‘Well, I can’t stand here chatting if I’m going to finish my masterpiece.’ Julia turned to go, then stopped. ‘Oh, it’s Daisy, isn’t it? Bananas aren’t straight. Just a little helpful tip.’

Daisy stared after her open-mouthed at the cheek.

‘No wonder she and Miss Beech are so chummy,’ Karla said. ‘Confidence destroyers, the pair of them.’

‘Of course, I know bananas aren’t straight. I haven’t decided yet which way to bend it. I resent having to slavishly follow Miss Beech’s fruit arrangement. Whatever happened to imagination?’

She returned to her canvas and hated everything she saw. This wasn’t her work at all. It was a clumsy clone of Miss Beech’s. A bowl of fruit sitting on a table covered with blue cloth was so uninspiring. She pitied the judge faced

with eight entries from the Paintbox Class depicting exactly the same composition.

Karla slapped paint onto her canvas, then pulled a face at Daisy. ‘This is hopeless.’

‘She terrified me at school,’ Daisy said. ‘But I’m a woman now, working in a senior position at a multinational. And she still scares me!’

The evening dragged on. Every time Miss Beech paused to comment on an individual’s work, Daisy saw that person wilt.

‘There she goes again, praising Julia,’ Daisy said, straining her ears to listen to their conversation. ‘Oh no, she’s coming over.’

Still smiling after her talk with Julia, Miss Beech said, ‘I’d like you two to come with me and have a look at Julia’s work. It might inspire you.’

Grudgingly, the two friends accompanied her.

‘It’s an exact copy,’ Daisy said. ‘It could have been painted by you, Miss Beech.’

For the first time in Daisy’s memory, Miss Beech looked pleased. ‘You’ve got it in one.’

‘But shouldn’t the painting show the artist’s flair, their individual style?’

Julia looked from one woman to the other. ‘I don’t really like it, but I did what you wanted, Gillian.’

‘She won’t be the judge,’ Daisy said.

‘I know what wins competitions,’ Miss Beech said with a glare in her voice. ‘Please return to your easels.’

Standing in front of her painting again, Daisy picked up a rag and scrubbed at her work. ‘Total rubbish,’ she told Karla.

‘Mine’s no better.’

Julia kept glancing in their direction. As soon as Miss Beech was busy with another student she hurried over.

‘It’s impossible for me to make things up,’ she said.

‘But I can copy anything.’

‘That’s what everyone here’s doing,’ Daisy said. ‘Miss Beech won a prize for that exact same arrangement 20 years ago and she thinks it’s the be-all and end-all of art. I’m rebelling! From now on I’m painting the way I want to paint.’

‘Go girl!’ Karla said.

Julia’s face took on a dreamy expression. ‘I love watercolours and women with floaty long hair running through bluebells.’

‘Try it then,’ Daisy said. ‘I love Monet’s later works. The water lilies – just a beautiful impression of them – not that I know what I’m talking about.’

Julia seemed hesitant to leave. ‘I didn’t mean what I said about the pottery and the banana. Gillian said she didn’t want to upset you by saying it herself and that it would be kinder coming from me. I thought it was her way of encouraging me.’

‘By demeaning someone else,’ Karla said. ‘Your lucky star let you down there.’

‘Yeah.’ Plainly downcast, Julia walked away.

Alone with Karla again, Daisy said, ‘I’ve just had a light-bulb moment.’

‘In what way?’

‘About what I’m going to paint.’

Daisy picked up her sketch pad and started to draw.

‘You can’t look,’ she said.

‘As you’re not coming again, you’ll have to wait until the exhibition to see my genius.’

For the first time since she’d joined the art class, Daisy went home in a happy mood. She needed to attend the lesson one more time to get her composition right. After that she’d finish it at home.

This was a good decision because when Miss Beech checked her work the following week she said, ‘That is something a child would paint, Daisy.’

But no matter how happy Daisy was with her entry in the exhibition, there was still that nagging voice in her head – Miss Beech’s – telling her it wasn’t up to scratch.

‘That is something a child would paint, Daisy’

On the day of the art exhibition, Karla met her outside the community hall where it was being held.

‘I’m dying of curiosity, Daisy. I can’t wait to see this rebellious work of yours.’ They entered the building and pushed through the crush.

‘Mine’s near the back wall,’ Daisy said. ‘You’ll recognise it straight away.’

Karla gave her a quizzical look but moments later exclaimed, ‘It’s the class!’

‘It’s called Paintbox Ladies.’ Eight students, in a fuzzy Impressionist style, were in an art studio, each busy at their easels.

‘I’m the one in yellow,’ Daisy said. ‘You’re the one in orange and the woman in blue is Julia. I wanted everyone in bold colours.’

‘They’re as colourful as parrots,’ Karla said, and she counted the women in the painting. ‘There’s only eight. Where’s Miss Beech?’

‘She went to the bathroom at a crucial moment so I left her out.’

Karla grinned. ‘I love it.’ ‘The judging’s going to start in a minute. I can’t bear to hear the criticism my effort might get, let’s go for a walk.’

She couldn’t hide forever, though. An hour later she and Karla returned to the community hall and bumped into Julia coming out.

‘I won a Commended for Lady with Bluebells,’ Julia said. ‘Gillian was furious.

She even complained to the mayor – and that was before I told her I’d copied it from a magazine.’

‘Congratulations,’ Daisy said and meant it. But she was disappointed for herself. Commended was the result she’d been hoping for.

With Karla close behind, she made a beeline for her entry and gaped in disbelief. ‘Highly Commended!’

‘Well, it’s bright, that’s for sure,’ Miss Beech sniffed behind her.

But Daisy was too thrilled to be bothered with Miss Beech’s faint praise.

Karla hugged her, and a photographer asked if he could take Daisy’s photo for the Up and Coming Talent section in the local paper.

It took ages for her to calm down. She sat in her favourite cafe drinking coffee with Karla, reviewing events.

‘I can’t believe Miss Beech actually complained to the mayor,’ Karla said.

‘I can’t see her getting another gig at the Paintbox Class. But she can come and give tips on sketching the perfect bendy banana…’

THE END

Victoria Chie, 2021