Page 58 of The Prize
He leaned toward my ear. “Just don’t distract me with your fidgeting.”
“Everything okay?” Brother Bay called over.
“Yes, sorry.” Tobias ignored my glare and strolled back toward Brother Bay. “I imagine making this canvas by hand is a form of prayer for you?”
Brother Bay nodded. “Would you like to keep it?”
“I would love that.” Tobias rolled it up and tucked it into his jacket. “How long have you been painting?”
“Since I was a boy.”
He reminded me of those protégés who seemed to be born with a brush in their hand just knowing how to paint.
“Brother Lawrence has approved us showcasing your paintings at my charity ball at The Plaza,” said Wilder. “If this sounds like something you’d be interested in?”
“How many other artists are collaborating in this event?”
“Just you,” he replied with a glint of pride for him.
Brother Bay seemed to mull over this. “What’s the catch, Mr. Wilder?”
“Catch?”
“Yes, we may be men of God but we’re not naive. Why me?”
Tobias caressed his jaw thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with my work in London? This is what I do. I save places of historical importance and keep history alive. It’s a passion of mine. The past teaches us so much. Brother Lawrence is a man of pride. This monastery has been self-sufficient for over one hundred years. I respect that. This is a self-sufficient endeavor. All I do is show your work. It must speak for itself.”
“What do you get out of restoring old places?” he pushed.
Tobias turned to face Brother Bay’s painting on the easel. “The same joy you get from creating that, I imagine. Only this is a God-given gift that you have. We all have our passions. Art history is mine. I’m currently showcasing the Qin Terra-Cotta Army in LA.”
“I bet that is quite something,” he said wistfully.
“It really is.”
“We’ll keep all the profits?”
“Yes, of course.”
Brother Bay glanced over at me. “If Brother Lawrence signs off on it. I just won’t be there. We don’t engage in acts of ego.”
“You have my word your work will be honored,” I piped up.
“Thank you.” He smiled and seemed to brighten at the thought.
I’d personally seen Tobias’s philanthropic work in London and knew he had enough integrity to honor his word to these monks. They might even be able to restore their gorgeous fresco in the chapel, which would take a team of specialists who wouldn’t come cheap.
“I hear you use Rembrandt’s technique?” Tobias sounded impressed. “I can see it in your work.”
“Yes, I use a blurring technique.” He placed his brush down and turned to Tobias.
“These imperceptible transitions are calledsfumato,” said Wilder.
“You know your art, then. It’s how I ensure soft transitions.” Bay pointed to the canvas. “No harsh outlines ensure there is no way of seeing that the person on the canvas isn’t real.”
Tobias sighed in respect. “The father of the technique was Leonardo da Vinci.”
“And Raphael also perfected it,” I said, realizing where this was going.
