What could be better? Anything that meant something, anything that would make a difference, anything that might say something or move people or do whatever good art did. And even Kieran’s most throwaway sketches seemed too valuable to waste, catching things in motion and utterly true to life, a little piece of the world ensnared by his fingertips and pressed to the page. Jude didn’t understand it, but Kieran had already reached for the roses like he could see what he wanted of them, like he was working out a picture in his head.
“You don’t actually need me to answer that, do you?” Jude said with a wry smile, shaking his head and gesturing vaguely as though to demonstrate the range of possibilities even here - a lone stranger at a table in the corner, a few half-empty beers left on the bar, the streetlamp shine on front windows that probably hadn’t been washed in years, the dusty dead augurey beak on the wall; or alternatively there was the truth, that anything would be better, because at least then you wouldn’t be looking at me.
He couldn’t use that as a reason, that maybe he was wary of Kieran’s undivided scrutiny. And it had no real logic because they saw each other all the time, spoke all the time, Kieran had sat through a hundred meetings over the years and Jude hadn’t minded that, but somehow the thought of Kieran just looking, studying with a purpose and capturing what he saw was more daunting than all of it, as if - if Kieran looked hard enough - he might see through Jude completely.
But, Jude reminded himself, if Kieran hadn’t seen the truth yet, a painting was not going to change that; being painted was not going to matter. “But - alright,” he said instead, meeting Kieran’s eyes with more calmness than he felt. “If you want.”
“You don’t actually need me to answer that, do you?” Jude said with a wry smile, shaking his head and gesturing vaguely as though to demonstrate the range of possibilities even here - a lone stranger at a table in the corner, a few half-empty beers left on the bar, the streetlamp shine on front windows that probably hadn’t been washed in years, the dusty dead augurey beak on the wall; or alternatively there was the truth, that anything would be better, because at least then you wouldn’t be looking at me.
He couldn’t use that as a reason, that maybe he was wary of Kieran’s undivided scrutiny. And it had no real logic because they saw each other all the time, spoke all the time, Kieran had sat through a hundred meetings over the years and Jude hadn’t minded that, but somehow the thought of Kieran just looking, studying with a purpose and capturing what he saw was more daunting than all of it, as if - if Kieran looked hard enough - he might see through Jude completely.
But, Jude reminded himself, if Kieran hadn’t seen the truth yet, a painting was not going to change that; being painted was not going to matter. “But - alright,” he said instead, meeting Kieran’s eyes with more calmness than he felt. “If you want.”
