Page 26 of Falling Slowly
“Food is very tasty here,” Ilme continued, dead serious. “I store it on my hips to take away. Don’t have to pay extra for the carry-on.”
Was she joking? She must have been.
Leonie found her voice again. “Ilme specializes in watercolors, but she said she wants to give you freedom of expression, so this is not a watercolor class, per se.”
“No. I try every material and medium I can get my hands on. Not everything is available in Estonia, but we make do. We get the best watercolor from Russia. Gorgeous color. Intense, deep color. I brought some with me for you to try. It looks like candy, but don’t eat.” This time, a couple of people laughed. “I also use razor blades, but I was asked not to bring, for legal reasons. They’re worried someone will kill themselves in the class. So, we will use these blunt plastic knives instead. They don’t work, but that’s okay.”
Leonie coughed, her face as red as her tunic. “Our management is very safety-conscious.”
“Isn’tshemanagement?” Charlie whispered.
Ilme turned back to us. “This week, I have a special assignment for you. I want you to create the piece that you would charge a million dollars for. It is only an exercise. Nobody will pay you a million dollars. But this is what I want you to think. What makes art priceless? Think about it. I was given this catalog of art supplies.” She lifted a hefty booklet off the table. “You can order from this and everything will be delivered tomorrow. But I ask you to think about the value of your art as separate from the material value.” She brandished the booklet, eyebrows raised. “Buying expensive supplies doesn’t make art more valuable. Most of this you can buy for a fraction of the price in Estonia.”
“I’ll let you get on.” Leonie scurried away, her cheeks glowing pink.
“She’s running to cancel any future classes taught by Estonians,” Charlie predicted, his mouth curving in amusement. “I like the million-dollar assignment, though.”
“Of course you do.” I turned so he couldn’t see my eye roll. Charlie had no hesitations about charging a million dollars for a day’s work. Or one idea.
Ilme walked around the room, handing out order forms and catalogs. As soon as I glanced at it, I froze. Were art supplies really this expensive? I flipped through the catalog, desperately searching for something I could afford. Where was regular paper? Why did it have to be acid-free, thick, and textured? I’d be too nervous to breathe on it, let alone draw or paint.
“Are you okay?” Charlie’s voice landed soft in my ear, distracting me from my panic. “Please keep breathing.”
“It’s so expensive?—”
“Excuse me,” he called out, stopping the teacher in her tracks. “Would it be okay to use found materials? I’m hugely inspired by… nature. There’s a forest outside, I think. Materials, like… sticks… um… leaves? Pinecones!”
It was obvious Charlie didn’t forage.
Ilme cocked her head. “What are you thinking of? An installation? A sculpture? Little animals with stick legs and googly eyes?” She mimed little pinecone animals with her fingers.
Harry laughed, along with Miranda and a couple of the other ladies. Ilme cast them a sharp look. “You think nobody will pay a million dollars for pinecone critters? You’re wrong! The rich buy the stupidest things.” She gestured at her forehead. “Forget the buyer. Focus on the value. When you say, ‘this is worth a million dollars,’ what you really mean is ‘I love it so much I don’t want to sell’. Some of you will say ‘this costs a million dollars’ because you think you’re a big deal and you want to sell it to some rich sucker out there.” She narrowed her eyes at Charlie. “And, some of you will think ‘nothing I do could be worth a million dollars’.” She looked at me.
I swallowed. Was she psychic or something?
Ilme waved her finger at us. “Either way, you’re missing the point. You’re focusing on yourself. Ego stands in the way of creation. You must surrender yourself and let ideas flow through you… Tap into the divine!” Her eyes burned with conviction, her posture challenging. “It is not you. You’re only a medium channeling it onto paper or canvas or clay or whatever you work on. And it doesn’t matter what material you use. Pinecones are fine.”
“I’d like to use natural materials, too,” I piped up. “Maybe some autumn leaves.”
Her eyes scanned my outfit and softened with understanding. “Okay. I think they have some resin in the storage room you can use. I’ll show you how.”
My lungs deflated in relief. “I’ll look it up online. I’d love to learn that technique.” I’d google the shit out of this.
“Great. Do that.” She walked back to the front of the class, addressing the whole group. “I was asked here to run a workshop for creative people who are stuck. You think, if you just breathe mountain air and sit in a bathtub and have a green drink, you find a million-dollar idea. But I tell you a secret.” She leaned in, stage whispering. “Sometimes, you’re stuck because you need to be stuck. Your mind is trying to tell you something but you’re asking the wrong question.”
Charlie raised his hand. “What’s the right question? Can you tell us now and save us the time?”
Miranda laughed.
Ilme cocked her head at him, unfazed. “Sounds like your subconscious is hard at work on something. Focus on the pinecones and you’ll get there.”
“Thanks for the palm reading,” Charlie muttered.
A soft murmur went across the room. It felt like a mix of fear and confusion, as well as a trickle of understanding. I couldn’t decide if the Estonian teacher was totally unhinged, a genius or something in between. I was leaning towards the in-between. People were hardly ever either. In a way, her words made sense. Thinking of creativity as a force flowing through us relaxed me. Maybe I could partake in that without the burden of being an artist and having incredible ideas. Whether there was a current of divine creativity floating in the air we could tap into, thinking this way lessened the pressure I felt. Maybe that was the point of it.
I set the catalog on the table, relieved I didn’t have to order anything. I’d collect leaves and wait for that divine intervention,as promised. What if it didn’t flow through me, though? What if I was too blinded by the stresses of daily life and constant struggle to be a vessel for any creative forces?
Ilme’s low, resonant voice halted my thoughts. “Tomorrow, we’re going on an excursion. Dress up warm. Those of you who are planning on using natural materials, bring bags for collecting. I’ve been told there are a lot of things up on the mountains. Pinecones, leaves, sticks, rocks… even bears.” It was the first time I saw Ilme smile, and I realized she was missing one of her front teeth.
