'Dear Mr Clifford L.,' it started.
A sense of familiar disappointment washed over me as I realized it wasn't Faye.
'Greetings from Monash School of Arts. We will be having a Christmas Arts Gallery in our college throughout the month of December with the theme -Out of The Box-.
We stumbled upon your portfolio online and we truly like what we see.
We would like to extend our invitation to you. Would like to be part of our project? Please call us for further discussions or arrange a meetup.'
I tied up my hair, and checked for the name and number of the sender. It's a mobile number.
I punched in the numbers, heard a dial tone and barely after 2 rings, a respond came through "Collins, Monash Arts."
"Hello, I am Clifford L. I received an email from you regarding ..."
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There it is, the stylish building where creative and artistic minds are trained. I pulled up at the visitors' parking lot and gazed at the architectural design. Twin buildings facing each other seperated by a walkway that slopes downwards and ascends up at the end via a flight of stairs.
I have an appointment with Collins.
I only brought my iPad with me, which should be enough, as in it I catalogued all my work in soft copies. Students roam the corridors. They may or may not be fashionable but most of them are carrying an air of personal style within them, even if one is simply clad in white pants and a white shirt.
I am trying to find my way to Collins' office and decided to ask a guy nearby. He got his back towards me. Regular built, dark brown hair in a tidy coiffure, simple black T-shirt, jeans and a pair of suede shoes. He also sports a sleeve tattoo on his left arm.
"Excuse me, could you tell me where can I find Mr Collins, please?" I asked.
He turned around and I was caught surprised realizing that he seemed to be too old for a student. And from the front, his black T-shirt was not simple at all. It was the outline of Fred Mercury, with the words 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.
"I am he whom you are looking for," Collins smiled and offered a fist bump. "You must be Clifford."
He studied me for a while from head to toe. "Classic. The aura of arts." And I consciously touched my chin, for I had not shaved since I last saw Faye.
"Sorry about the mess in here, this is the life of an art lecturer," Collins said as he led us into his office.
We get right into business.
"This showcase gallery that you mentioned, are there others or am I the only one?" I asked.
"You are not the only one. You get a section and it's up to you how many pieces you want to showcase. They must be art on a flat medium, ie canvas. In case you're bringing a sculpture, we don't want it," Collins explains matter-of-factly, with a tinge air of superiority.
"Who are the others?" I asked.
"People who match your caliber, I assure you. Unknown today, but potential to make a name tomorrow... like you? You will be proud to stand alongside these other artists. Or shamed is your concern?" Collins replied with a smile borderline smug.
"Don't wanna outshine anybody..."
"Ha ha... please try. This is an art school."
Collins carried himself with much confidence. Of course, this is his home ground and he is the master of his own trade.
"Clifford, this Christmas event will be open to public and it goes by free admission. It should attract general public, arts enthusiasts, and even scouts. May I kindly ask if you have any requests as for... payments or renumerations? Let's make that clear." Collins quickly continues, "Bear in mind, we do not charge you any rental fees."
I took a deep breath. I am just a budding artist. I made enough money by freelance work. People doesn't know my name nor recognize my signature, so who am I to make demands?
"No, sir. I am very pleased to be part of this project pro bono. For this purpose, my work will be new and original, I promise in the name of arts. Just a small request tho... if any of my work pique the interest of any buyer, at any amount to the highest bidder, I reserve the rights to sell it. My work is mine."
The meeting ended with Collins saying that he will ask the organizers' and the dean's opinion.
By the time I reached home, the email is already in the inbox.
'You've got yourself a deal. You need cash, huh? Collins.'
I typed 'Christmas charity' and hit the send button.
The cycle of life is like cogs of time. Even though it jams for a moment, the cascading flow of time pushes life to move on. I really miss Faye, it still hurts very much.