Oil Scripture

Mat turned back to the array of paintings, his eyes gazing past the different colours hoping for some kind of sign. As the colours meaning continued to baffle him he decided the best way to tackle this situation would be going through each painting in turn. This made him inwardly sigh, having to find the meaning behind art was always his pet hate. If she was going to play hard to get for his whole stay here then he would most probably go insane.

He approached a painting that hung close to the pervious artwork he’d examined. It was simpler than the others, the artwork almost seemed carelessly made; it’s streaks of colour sticking to the canvas in odd disarray. It was interesting for Mat to see the contrast, if he hadn’t known he would have been fooled to believe that he was observing another artists work.

The artwork in question was made of a different material to the last, rather than glossy Polaroid pictures it consisted of coloured chalk. Mat looked at the artwork sceptically; most chalk pieces were that of incapable obnoxious little creatures with no means of entertainment other than a poorly designed coloured stick. It almost made him laugh when he thought about it, during such discoveries he would be forced to look for the hidden signs, the hidden meanings of the thoughts of the painter. He’d curse his professor under his breath and proceed to let his mind wander onto menial things, The Cure becoming the soundtrack to his thoughts.

There wasn’t much he needed in order to be pleased.

When he turned back to meet the artists curious gaze he couldn’t help but laugh. She questioned his change in mood and he looked from the painting to her in the hope that it would explain his laughter. She questioned him again and he sighed in an attempt to calm his previous blunder. He pointed towards the artwork and smiled harmoniously.

“This is a bit childish isn’t it? Did you make it when you were younger?” he asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“What is so childish about it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, it’s chalk.”

“Your point?”

“Chalk is for immature snot nosed children with an artistic burst.”

“That’s a bit narrow minded of you, an artist can use any means to create art.”

He paused. This was true, only a few days ago Mat had regarded artwork created from garbage to make silhouettes of the artists. Mat had told himself to pass on his unwanted rubbish to them, because clearly they loved to recycle.

“That’s the way I see it,” Mat finally said, “Why a tub of ice cream anyway?” he asked, looking back at the detailed delicacy that adorned the canvas. It was simple, but it also seemed childish to him. Perhaps he’d been analysing too many artworks recently.

“Why shouldn’t I have an artwork with ice cream on it?” she asked, her hands were placed on her hips and she seemed to be attempting to scowl at Mat. Persia was never very good at remaining angry at people, especially those who had smirks plastered across their faces. Mat looked at the painting, his eyes dancing across the colours and Persia thought he was trying to figure out their meaning to her.

“What’s the story?” he asked, his eyes still scanning the artwork, “because I sure as hell can’t see one.”

Persia smiled inwardly to herself and watched her curious visitor. If only he could see the simplicity of things, perhaps then he would discover its meaning. As his expectant eyes watched her she realised that he was waiting for an answer, his lips forming a tight line as he waited for what seemed like an endless amount of time.

“Does it have to do with Jamie?”

Persia looked away from his gaze, unable to meet their stubborn curiosity as she looked back at her unfinished work in front of her.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I still don’t see the importance of an ice cream tub.”

Persia giggled at his change of topic and looked back at the budding art student. His eyes were on her still, waiting for the story behind the painting. Persia sighed and walked towards Mat, she looked at the painting once more and turned to him.

“It’s childish.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Persia cleared her throat before memories of blissful moments passed her by. She looked back at Mat who was still waiting patiently; Persia could almost see his inward battle not to shake her into telling him.

“It was the second time I saw him,” she started, “it was purely by accident. I hadn’t kept in contact after the bus incident, I had almost forgotten he’d come into my life. My brother, Charlie, was having a difficult time dealing with lose like many poets at the time and all I could think of doing was to stay with him. He wasn’t shaping up well, he wouldn’t talk for days and he’d just stare into space.”

Mat nodded as she paused, motioning for her to carry on despite it’s apparent off-topic theme.

“Well, my mother asked me if I could try to help him. She’d given up long ago knowing she would have no affect on his mood, so I travelled to his house and brought my stuff so that I could live there with him. By the time I got there he was having financial problems as he hadn’t thought to pay his bills while he was moping. I decided it would be best to try and rent a room in his house, but no one wanted to come. The more I tried to help him out financially, the more it didn’t work. He wasn’t getting any better,” she paused once more to make sure she hadn’t lost her listener amongst the bombardment of information.

“I eventually gave up and decided I’d have to cheer him up the old fashioned way,” Persia motioned towards the artwork, “ice cream is the best from of treatment,” she smiled childishly as Mat looked at her in dismay. Of course it was true that some people felt better with the addition of cold delicacies but he still couldn’t see it’s reference to the man she was so hostile over.

“What does that have to do with Jamie?”

“Wait, I haven’t finished explaining. You’re so impatient, you know that?”

“I try my best.”

“Well, I went to the store in order to purchase said ice cream.”

“Obviously.”

“And when I reached the store there was only one tub of ice cream left. It was a hot day so I assumed that mothers with screaming children had already raided the shelves. My target was set and I walked towards It, when I reached out for it my hand collided with another person’s and in my determination to cheer up my brother I slapped the hand away and grabbed the tub. Of course I had misjudged my strength and the victim of my blind determination was muttering profanities under his breath.”

Mat laughed to himself for a moment as he tried to imagine the scene.

“I turned to apologise for hurting him and he reached out and grabbed the ice cream from me. I was in such a daze I hadn’t realised he was making a fool of me. When I returned to reality I realised who it was standing before me.”

“Jamie,” Mat said, knowing instantly his role in the affair.

“Yes, it was him. I was instantly embarrassed and tried to make up excuses for my behaviour, then I remembered he had the tub of ice cream.”

“Did you kick his ass for it?” Mat asked, a cheeky smile adorning his face. Persia laughed and nodded.

“A bit similar to that. Once I managed to keep the ice cream away from him and had explained the situation to him he accepted my apology and claimed I owed him a girl’s night in.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. I went to my brother after that.”

“I still don’t see why you had to make an artwork of a tub of ice cream,” Mat said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, you’ve got to connect with you inner child at some point.”

“You mean snot faced little brats?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Mat laughed before allowing her to return to her unfinished work. He turned towards the door and decided he could stay a little longer amongst her work, they’re stories slowly unravelling. No one had started worrying about him just yet; arriving fashionably late was always seen as good amongst his peers. After all, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, he wasn’t going anywhere.