In Due Time

I had heard of him, of course. What aspiring artist had not? He was THE sponsor one hoped for, the one with immense connections, unlimited resources, incredible knowledge and experience, and the one who had launched many a career. 

‘They’ said he was accessible, not shielded behind a multitude of minions or too busy to bother with unknowns like me. I didn’t really believe it. But, what the heck, why not give it a try? So I sent off my request for sponsorship and mentally filed it away as, ‘Oh well, I tried.’

A few days later I got an envelope. It was simple, white, my name handwritten on the front, no postal mark so apparently hand delivered. Huh. It wasn’t my birthday or anything. Puzzled, I put my stuff down then walked to the window, stood in the sunlight, and opened the envelope. 

It had his logo on the top of the page. It was an invitation to meet!

Say what?? And it was for the next day, not, you know, months down the road. A shiver ran through me. Excitement. Nerves. Yikes. Not much time to prepare.

The next day I dressed carefully (okay, carefully for an artist with limited funds), trying for ‘creative but responsible’ rather than ‘over the top creative.’ Portfolio in hand, I entered his building, glancing around the airy foyer with art from his sponsees (? sponsorees? proteges?) hanging around the periphery with one or two 3-D pieces standing boldly by clusters of chairs. I’d wandered in here before, curious, and admired the art and longed for mine to be seen. Then I’d wandered out, both challenged and overwhelmed.

Now here I was, invited!

I crossed to the elevators and, as the note had instructed, pushed the button to go to the penthouse. (The penthouse! This would be my first ever penthouse.) I had time on the way up to compose myself but when the doors opened the flutters were still hopping around my insides. 

“Whoa!” I breathed, stepping out. The foyer here was wide and light and the far wall was all glass overlooking the city. What a view! 

Footsteps approached and I turned from the view expecting a secretary only to see the man himself walking toward me with a smile. “Welcome,” he said. “Glad you could make it. What do you think?” He asked, nodding to the wall I’d been staring at.

“It’s an amazing view,” I said. I didn’t stammer and my voice didn’t squeak so I counted that my first victory. 

“It is. I love it. Why don’t you come on over to my office. Susie will bring tea and snacks.” He led the way to the left, down the hallway at the end of the open foyer and to a large, surprisingly homey office in the corner. Here the two outer walls were all glass, showing different parts of the city below (this was one of the tallest structures downtown). Beautiful art hung on the inner walls, above wooden cabinets topped with tasteful sculptures. Comfortable looking chairs and a couch made an inviting sitting area facing the view. I’d expected opulence so was surprised at the lived in feel of the furniture. I felt myself relaxing as I entered and sat where he indicated. I leaned my portfolio against the side of the chair and sat back, going for ‘relaxed’ rather than ‘stupendously intimidated.’

A woman a little older than me entered with a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of us. “Black tea, with cold milk, and sugar,” she said smiling at me. “And not too sweet biscuits. Oh, and good sized mugs rather than teacups.” 

Talk about service. I wondered how she knew that was exactly what I liked.

“Help yourself,” The Man said (that’s how I thought of him – with capitals).

I made myself a cup of tea just the way I liked, milk in first, not too much sugar, then leaned back, mug in both hands held in front of my chest, like a security blanket. 

The Man smiled and made himself a cup. “Now,” he said, also leaning back, “I enjoyed your application for sponsorship. I see you brought some of your art. May I see it?”

“Of course!” I set my mug down and opened my portfolio, setting it on the table before him.  Talk about nerves! I had to still my foot to keep it from bouncing around and grabbed my mug again, taking a big sip. 

He leafed through my pieces, taking time to really look at each one. From time to time he’d comment: “I like how you caught the light there … nice use of negative space … great colour choice … I like this composition …” 

His comments relaxed me. Once or twice he questioned my choice of colour or technique but the way he did it held no criticism, only curiosity.

When he was finished, he leaned back with a smile. “Let’s discuss how this will work.”

My jaw almost dropped to my chest. “You mean… uh … you’ll sponsor me?”

He nodded, eyes glinting with good humour. “It will be my pleasure. Now, what I’d like is for you to work with some of my instructors for a bit, see what they you can pick up. At the right time I will commission something from you. But don’t worry about that yet. All in due time.

“We have several floors set up with studio space. You can wander around and choose the one you like best. Susie will show you the ropes, give you access to our system so you can order supplies, and make sure you have all the passwords and your ID to get in and out whenever you want. 

“This is my personal number,” he handed me a business card. “Feel free to text or call when you need anything. I’m always available. Oh, and Susie will get your banking information and get you set up for the Artist’s Stipend. You’ll get your first deposit at the beginning of next week and then every other Monday. I think you’ll find the payment schedule adequate. Any questions?”

 I was too stunned at how fast this had happened to think of anything. So I just shook my head faintly.

As if he understood, he grinned at me. “It looks like you need some time to process all this.” His face turned serious. “You need to understand something: my goal is to help you reach your full potential. There’s no timeline on that. And there’s no pressure from my side for you to produce. Learn. Grow. Enjoy. Find your own style … I can see from your work that you’ve tried a couple different ones, most based on well known artists’ techniques and visions. Find your own. And have fun!” 

Even the last sentence was delivered seriously. He meant it.

Something I hadn’t known was there released inside of me and a small exhale of relief escaped. Wow!

He stood and handed me my portfolio as I rose. “I’ll introduce you to Susie properly and let you get on with it. She’ll show you where the instructors work and set up a meet and greet with them for you.” He put his hand on the small of my back as he led me to the door and out into the hallway. “It’s a pleasure to have you join us. I look forward to our journey together.”

“Uh. Thanks so much! Me, too.”

Susie was near the elevators, and, after proper introductions, had me sign some paperwork, got my bank info, had someone take a headshot for the ID card, and led me back to the elevator and down to the studio floors. The studios were amazing! Rooms with lots of light and space, but set up so you could adjust it all to suit yourself. Each studio space had some basic supplies but I would need to order additional ones according to my preferences. I chose a corner space that would get different kinds of light depending on the time of day. 

Over the next few days I realized that The Man had thought of everything. I mean every detail was planned for, every need anticipated as if he knew me so well he barely had to ask. At first it made me nervous thinking someone had been researching me and wondering what they might have found that I didn’t want them to know about. Gradually I realized it was an amazing way to be cared for. 

I started out treating this like a job, arriving in the morning and working diligently through til late afternoon with stops for meals etc. It felt a bit weird as I usually worked best in the afternoon and evenings. 

One morning I walked into my space, yawning, and stopped short. The Man was there lounging in the easy chair I’d asked for and gazing out the window. He smiled a greeting and asked me how it was going. We chatted for a bit then he cocked his head on the side and asked, “Why are you here so early? I believe you work better later in the day, don’t you?”

“Um … yeah, I kinda get my energy and inspiration going closer to noon.”

“So why not come in at noon? Or work outside if you like?”

The question stumped me. “Uh … I want to be diligent and uh, I just thought, you know … like a real job…”

“That’s what I thought. What did I tell you when you started? What’s our goal here?”

“Um … that I reach my full potential and find my own style.”

“Right … anything in that about expectations for office hours, dress code, schedules…?”

“Um … no-oo.”

He smiled. “Hmmm. So where are those expectations coming from I wonder.”

“Me, I guess.”

“Right. As far as I’m concerned, wear what you want, come in at any hour that works for you. Stay all night if you’re on a roll. Make your own schedule. Sit and dream up things for hours if that’s what you need. This is about you and your potential.”

“Ok. Got it, I think.” 

He smiled and rose. “I like this one best, by the way,” he said, pointing to a piece I was experimenting with. It was more free-flowing, less structured, with shapes starting to appear.

Then he was gone. Really? He liked that one? It was different from anything else I’d tried. I was playing, experimenting, just having fun. 

Huh. 

The next day I dressed down and sauntered into my space around noon. The light shining in the windows was amazing. Up ’til now I guess I’d been too tired by noon to notice. Today it looked fresh and tinged with gold and silver. “Wow.” I just stood there with my mug of tea and soaked it in. Then I moved to my experimental piece and tried to capture something of it. For some reason creativity flowed more freely that day.

As time passed and The Man didn’t tell me what he would commission, a seed of anxiety started to creep in. I felt like I was free-loading, taking his money and resources without giving anything back. I started to get a little antsy. All he’d said was that at some point he’d commission something, probably a mural. So I started looking at blank walls around the city, wondering if they would make a good canvas and what he’d want me to fill it with. Not much came. Too many unknowns. Still, I tried to imagine various murals that might be suitable. I sketched a few, just in case. But I had too little to go on. 

I asked a couple of the instructors if they knew what he might want. They just smiled and told me he’d let me know but it would be exciting and worth it. Not much help. 

Anxiety started to simmer below the surface. Wondering. Wanting to be ‘useful’ and ‘earn my keep’ as it were. I hadn’t realized that was deep inside me somewhere, but here it was, crawling up to the surface. Not nice. Not fun. And not good for creativity. 

One day I decided to face it straight on and made my way up to his office. I smiled at Susie and tentatively asked if he was available. 

“Of course. Go on in. He’s just finished a call.”

He rose from behind his desk and greeted me with a smile. “Good to see you. How is it going?”

“Um, good. But I was wondering, you know, when you would commission whatever it is you want. I think I’m ready and I’d like to, um, get going on it. You’ve been so generous, I think it’s time you get something for your investment.”

“Have a seat,” he said, and took one himself. I settled where I had that first day. He looked at me seriously, eyes warm. 

I squirmed. 

“Do you trust me?” He finally asked.

“Yes! Of course!”

“Do I make sure everything is taken care of, that all the details fall into place, that you have what you need to thrive here?”

I nodded, wondering where this was going. I wasn’t questioning his generosity or administrative abilities … I didn’t think.

“I’m also pretty good at timing,” he said, a small smile playing on his mouth.

“Um … yes.”

“Let me give you a tip. Ready?”

I nodded.

“Chill.”

“Huh?”

“Relax. I’ve got it covered. Some details, including you, are not quite ready yet. They will be.   I’ve got a few things in the works. It’ll all come together In the right time. Do you remember when we first met I mentioned ‘in due time’?”

“Yes.”

“Then keep learning, growing, experimenting. By the way I love your new stuff. Well, what you were doing until the last couple weeks. Your work has changed recently. Why do you think that is?”

“Um … I guess I’ve been a little stressed, trying to think what you would want, and how to prepare, and…” 

“You stopped working from your heart and went to your head. You’ve been trying to meet expectations without even knowing what they are. What did I ask you to do?”

“Learn. Find my own style.”

“Exactly. Keep doing that. Relax. I’ve got everything in hand. I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

I released a sigh without hardly realizing. 

“You really do want me to just keep experimenting and learning and releasing my own ideas?”

“I really do. That’s what this is all about,” he waved his hand to encompass the office, the view, the whole building. “Now,” he rose. “Hop to it.”

I stood and held out my hand to him. His smile was warm as he took it. 

“I believe in you.”

I left his office feeling lighter. Freer. Amazed. Excited. And … safe. 

The next few weeks I did some of my best work to date. It was full of life and freedom and light. I thoroughly enjoyed it – even the mistakes and booboos. 

One day I turned from adding the last strokes on my latest piece to see The Man standing behind me, looking at my painting. He turned his eyes to me.

“It’s time,” he said, smiling. “Come with me.”