Free The Artist's Paradise by Pamela S Wetterman

“I’m searching for an art competition exhibit. Do you have any information?” The guard nodded and handed her a small brochure. She grabbed the brochure and studied it as she rushed to the elevator. The exhibit promised both oils and watercolors. Her lungs tightened in her chest. She missed the art world. For the past six years, she hadn’t painted or attended an exhibition. Why had she abandoned her craft?
    As she located the watercolor exhibit, she slowed to a crawl. With her hands clasped together behind her back, she edged along the wall admiring the paintings. Her eyes widened as she approached a watercolor landscape entitled The Gift. She leaned forward to see the artist signature but it was unintelligible.
    A handsome, dark haired man about forty was also studying the landscape. He stepped into her personal space and leaned over. He whispered. “Magnificent, don’t you think?”
    Startled by his boldness, Angie stepped back, fumbled around, trying to find the artist’s name on the brochure. “Yes, I’m in awe. Who’s the artist?”
    “ It’s a Turner. With the choice of a limited palate, the gentle way of guiding the viewer with the use of light and shading, and the gift of artistry, it could only be a Turner. “
    “Turner?” Angie stared at the stranger. His deep brown eyes penetrated her .  She fought her excitement, recognizing that flutter in her stomach. Get a grip.
    “The signature is impossible to read, but this is Exhibit 65, James Turner ,” the stranger said.
    Angie r eran her finger along the brochure to Exhibit 65. “Yes, it says James Turner. Isn’t he an art professor here?”
    “Yes, and look for Turner watercolors nationally in the near future.”
    Angie stirred and her pulse quickened. What was it about this stranger? “How long have you been following him?”
    “Oh, probably all my life. I grew up want ing to make my living as a painter. My inspiration was the original Turner—M.W. Turner, born in 1775. He inspired me with his use of color. But it’s hard to break into the art world. I’ve spent the last eight years teaching art.
    The Tom Cruise double moved onto the next canvas with a smile and wave. Angie returned the smile and swirled around to the landscape. She had been studying the masterpiece for some time when she realized her cell phone was ringing. She pulled it out of her purse and answered.
    “Hi, it’s Angie.”
    “We are here at the front desk. Are you ready for some lunch?”
    “I’m famished. I’ll be right down.”
    #
    The museum featured a delightful restaurant catering to female customers. The menu offered salads and rich desserts. Angie listened intently as Vicki chatted about the morning reception. Then Susie described the other mothers as if they were all older than Vicki, less conversational, and more than a little stuffy. Susie congratulated her mom on being the only interesting woman over forty in the room.
    When Vicki asked about her morning, the corners of Angie’s mouth curved upward. “I thought I’d won the lottery with the American Indian exhibit. The photos and artistry captured the broken spirits and tragedy faced by many tribes. The Trail of Tears came to life in their sad eyes.”
    Angie scooted closer to the table. “Then, I met a very handsome Tom Cruise look-a-like with dark-brown hair and a three-day stubble. He introduced me to the work of James Turner.” Angie bounced in her chair as if a small child on her birthday. “Turner’s watercolor created an explosion in my mind. I’m in love. I have to meet your Professor Turner. He’s simply magnificent, gifted, and plain wonderful.”
    Susie raised her eyes from the cheesecake shook her fork at her mother. “See. I was right. He’s everything I said. When do you want to meet him?”
    Angie threw down her cloth napkin. “Today, tomorrow, or whenever you can make it happen.”
    “ Girls, hold your excitement. We’ve got an awards banquet tonight,” Vicki said. “Why not