Free The Woman Who Heard Color by Kelly Jones

said, trying to explain.
    “Ah, stirring the spirit,” he came back with a chuckle, and she was not sure if she amused him or if he understood and shared this feeling. “Yes, it also moves me,” he added agreeably. “Good art will always stir the soul.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder, as her father did when she had accomplished a task and he was pleased. And Hanna felt another stirring, deep within. But this assuredly was not in her soul, as it was clearly something moving deep within her body.
    She felt herself blush and grow warm now at the thought of Herr Fleischmann’s touch, and forced herself to clear such thoughts from her head. The students were moving about now, taking their mid-session break. Hanna slipped on her dressing gown and retreated to the area behind the curtain. She stretched her arms, wiggled her shoulders and legs to get the blood flowing, to prepare herself to sit once more. She wondered if it would be permissible to go out into the studio and look at the work of the students. This was why she had come—to see how it was done, taking what was real and putting it first through the artist’s mind, then onto paper or canvas. But if she ventured out, might one of the artists question her? Would they speak to her as if she were a person now? Probably not. She was but a young woman, a body, the subject for a drawing lesson. By the time Hanna had sorted through all this, the artists were back at their easels, ready to continue.
    After the class, again the students packed away their supplies and were out of the room before she returned. She had yet to catch a glimpse of any of the drawings. She received her pay from Josef at the front desk, just as she had after the last session, and tucked it in her pocket. As she walked out of the building and turned toward Leopoldstrasse, Hanna’s heart leapt up to her throat. Coming from the opposite direction, clearly moving toward the Academy, was Herr Fleischmann. She turned her head, tilted her hat over her eyes, angling her body away from his. He passed by unaware of her. Hanna watched as he climbed the stairs, opened the door, and entered the building. This should not have surprised her, as she knew Herr Fleischmann had many friends at the Academy, that he often met for drinks or dinner with professors, and always showed an interest in the work of their students, always on the lookout for the next movement or trend in the art world, attempting to catch it before the other dealers.
    Hanna hurried toward home, secure in her belief that he had not seen her.
     
     
    T he following week Hanna returned to the studio at the Academy of Fine Arts on Monday, and again on Wednesday, and then Friday. It was beginning to feel like a real job, though she loved going. She daydreamed when the studio was quiet, the students deep in concentration. She listened when they engaged in conversation, particularly when they discussed the concept of color. Several were now painting, rather than just drawing. Herr von Stuck and Herr Kandinsky often went back and forth about the teacher’s insistence that Kandinsky finish each piece, and that, for now, he work in black and white, as it was important that he understand underlying tones, tints, and shades before advancing to color.
    Through the conversations at the studio, in her position as the invisible mind, the visible body, she learned much about the artists themselves. Wassily Kandinsky was a musician as well as an artist. He spoke of how the colors had actual connections to specific notes. She perked up considerably when he said this.
    Alexej Jawlensky said, “Ah, my friend Herr Kandinsky not only sees the color, he hears the color.” He had come to Munich about the same time as Kandinsky, though they had not known each other in their mother country. Hanna learned that he had also studied with Anton Ažbe, and she guessed that the two had become acquainted then. They were older and seemed more mature than many of the