The Genius and the Muse
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Authors: Elizabeth Hunter
The Genius & the Muse
By Elizabeth Hunter
The Genius and the Muse
Copyright © 2012
by Elizabeth Hunter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: E. Hunter
Edited by:
Amy Eye
Formatted by:
Amy Eye
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
OTHER BOOKS BY ELIZABETH HUNTER
The Elemental Mysteries
A Hidden Fire
This Same Earth
The Force of Wind
A Fall of Water
For more information, please visit:
Who sees the human face correctly? The photographer, the mirror, or the painter?
—Pablo Picasso
Acknowledgements
Just prior to publication, my life took a turn that made this story even more personal than it already was. Life is unpredictable, to say the least. And I’ve found out just how amazing my friends and family are.
To my pre-readers, Kristy, Lindsay, Sarah, Sandra, Caroline, Molly, and Ron. How many times can I thank you before it starts to get weird?
To my friend, Lydia, who met me for dim sum and encouragement. Here’s to taking things and running with them. You were an agent of change in my life.
A huge debt of gratitude to Toni Cox for her technical and artistic advice. Your insights were invaluable.
To my editor, Amy Eye. Thank you. Always,
thank you
.
To my readers all over the world, who I like to think are the best and brightest. Thank you for your patience and attention.
To my son, who makes living every day such an adventure.
And a special thank you to my amazing friend, Nicole, and her
sparks
of inspiration.
Here’s to finding new dreams and rediscovering what you’ve lost.
To Kelli
For lots of reasons.
Part One: The Student
Foothill Art Institute
Claremont, California
March 2010
K
ate Mitchell tripped over the ridge of cracked asphalt, the stumble sending her backpack falling to the ground, scattering notebooks, pencils, and a bag of lens caps and filters across the parking lot. Her camera bag started to slide. She caught it just before the padded case slipped off her arm.
“Perfect,” she said as she glared at the backpack. Kate shoved her unruly red hair out of her eyes and set the carefully packed camera case with her SLR and lenses to the side before she began to pick up the rest of the scattered mess from her backpack. She could already feel the sweat starting to trickle between her thin shoulder blades as the Southern California sun radiated from the blacktop. “As if this day couldn’t get any better…”
She had a sneaking suspicion that she’d forgotten to put sunscreen on again, and she prayed her pale, freckled skin wouldn’t be red by the time she got inside. She finished tossing the last of her school supplies in her backpack and hustled toward the old building set in the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains.
As she neared the sprawling building that housed the school of visual arts, she heard the clanging and ringing of hammers from the metal-fabrication shop just past the ceramic kilns, and the chatter from a group of splattered painters who were gathered by a bench near the entrance. Kate finally reached the cool shade of a spreading pepper tree, set her bags down, and tried to tame her hair into a bun before continuing on toward her first class.
Though it wasn’t even April, the temperatures were already expected to be in the high 80s, and Kate was flushed by the time she reached the glass doors of the entrance. She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and grabbed it to read a message from her boyfriend.
Call me when you finish class and meetings today. —Cody
Curious, she sent back a quick text.
What’s up? —Kate
Pulling open the side door to the building, she sighed at the rush of cool, dry air that poured out.
What are your plans this weekend?—C
She walked down the wide hall toward the restroom to check her hair, which had probably already flown in eight different directions.
I have thesis work, and there’s an exhibition I need to go to.—K
No one else was in the bathroom, so Kate took a moment to splash water on her red, freckled face. She patted her skin dry, pulled herself together, and hurried out, checking the screen on her phone to see if she had enough time to make a quick pass through the alumni gallery before her History of Photography class.
Deciding she could stop for ten minutes, Kate turned right instead of left and wandered down the long hall containing past student work from notable alumni of Foothill Art Institute.
Nope. You’re going to San Diego with me and the guys.—C
She rolled her eyes.
That’s news to me.—K
Kate walked through the gallery, scanning the walls for any new additions. Her work would be here one day. She’d already picked out the print she would submit to her advisor, Professor Bradley. She may not have been sure of other parts of her life, but when it came to photography, Kate knew exactly where she wanted to go.
Come on, babe. Take a break for once. Mom already booked a room for you.—C
“Damn it, Cody, some of us don’t run surf shops,” she said to her phone. She thought about Cody’s mom and dad, whom she had loved since she was a little girl. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin a weekend that Barbara had planned. Their families had been close friends for years. Their mothers met when Kate and Cody were babies. They’d grown up together, and had been friends before they developed an undeniable chemistry together as teenagers. By the time college rolled around, it took no one by surprise when they started dating.
Cody had been her first boyfriend and the only man she’d seriously dated since graduating from high school. In the back of her mind, she knew their parents were both expecting marriage. But Kate had always been focused on her education and her photography, and no one seemed to question whether she was settling too quickly.
Until recently, she hadn’t questioned it herself.
She glared at her phone and sent a quick text back.
I can’t. I’ve got to get this done, Cody. I’ve got deadlines coming up.—K
Cody had been supportive and proud of her work as long as they’d been together. He’d been her unofficial assistant on a shoot more than once, especially if it was at the beach. Still, the closer she got to finishing her master’s thesis and getting serious about developing her portfolio, the more Cody seemed to be dissatisfied with where she was headed.
Walking swiftly past the screen prints and paintings at the beginning of the gallery, Kate moved around the partitions to make her way to the back corner where photography prints from past students hung scattered on the walls.
She felt her phone buzz again.
Fine. Whatever. I guess I’ll tell my mom you’re not coming. Maybe Brad can invite his girlfriend.—C
Shaking her head, Kate continued on toward the center of the photography exhibit. She stopped and sat on the small bench, trying to quash her irritation with Cody so she could absorb the numerous images produced by Foothill Art Institute’s most famous graduate, Reed O’Connor. With her back to the rest of the gallery, she studied the early work of one of her favorite photographers, who was also partly the subject of her graduate project.
Reed O’Connor had made his name quickly in the art world. Still in his early thirties, his dramatic good looks, mysterious personal life, and reclusive persona made him an intriguing and attractive subject for gossip. But his work, in Kate’s opinion, was the real mystery.
Even as a student, the tell-tale characteristics of what would come to be known as an “O’Connor portrait” were evident. Along with an impressive technical prowess, the young photographer exhibited an almost impressionistic use of light and shadow and an artful isolation of features. It was a singular style he’d perfected in the eight years since he graduated from Foothill.
Kate leaned her thin arms against the back of the bench and scanned the collection of photographs.
O’Connor’s portrait work was often controversial to the celebrities and other public figures who clamored for his attention, but the artist had managed to create a stunning mystique with his meteoric rise from fashion to portrait photography. His portrait work had appeared in leading magazines around the world. He was notoriously private, constantly in demand, and stubbornly single-minded. He used no assistants, she knew from her research, and he absolutely
never
captured the subject’s full visage.