Page 19 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“Poor napkins. They’re getting folded and refolded until they achieve geometric perfection.”
They ate for a few minutes, Tyler finally relaxing after the longest day he’d had in weeks.
“So,” Stella said, “sounds like you’ll be living at the Festival grounds for a while.”
“Every day until the madness stops. Opening ceremony tomorrow, judging in a couple of weeks, awards after.” Tylercounted on his fingers. “I’m basically documenting the entire artistic process.”
“That’s a lot of pictures.”
“Someone’s got to capture the drama. Plus, Bernie’s betting pools.”
Stella looked thoughtful. “You know, I’ve been curious about what you actually do at these things. All I see is you leaving with camera equipment and coming back exhausted.”
“It’s chaos, but organized chaos. Artists setting up, visitors trying to appreciate things they don’t understand, vendors arguing about electrical outlets.” Tyler gestured with his fork. “Very photogenic chaos.”
“I’d love to see it sometime,” Stella said, and Tyler caught the genuine interest in her voice.
“Really? It’s not exactly exciting. Lots of standing around, lots of artistic temperament.”
“Sounds interesting to me. I like watching how people work.”
Tyler thought for a moment. Stella had been asking good questions about camera settings lately, and her own photography was getting genuinely impressive.
“I suppose it would qualify as ‘take your daughter to work’ day. You could come along if you want,” he offered. “After the Shack closes. I could show you around, introduce you to some of the artists.”
“That sounds really cool,” Stella said, and Tyler was struck by how much she sounded like she meant it.
“Fair warning though—if we run into Patricia, you might witness a lecture about ceramic grief stages.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“Famous last words.”
Tyler stood to clear their bowls. “Thanks for dinner. And for letting me complain about art for twenty minutes.”
“Better than watching you eat the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms.”
“That was one time.”
“That was this morning.”
“Okay, fair point.” Tyler grabbed his camera bag. “I should look at today’s shots. Make sure I got something usable between all the pottery documentation.”
“Want company? I could tell you if you missed anything obvious.”
“Sure. But there are a lot of ceramic seagulls.”
“I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
They settled on the couch, Tyler’s laptop between them. Stella pointed out things as they scrolled—the way one artist lit up when someone stopped at her booth, how another guy arranged his tools like a surgeon, a quiet moment between a painter and a potential buyer.
“You’re good at this,” Tyler said. “Seeing the moments between the obvious shots.”
“Just looking.”
“That’s what photography is. Looking and getting the timing right.”
“Speaking of which,” Stella said, reaching for her own camera. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”
