Chiaroscuro: Chapter 3
Chapter 1 Part 1 is now available to all of my subscribers for free.
Dearest Cultured Reader,
I promised that Chapter 1 Part 1 would be available to all of my subscribers, and I followed through on my promise. I want everyone to read and experience Emery Steele’s story - as it’s a story so close to my heart, and I know is already resonating with so many of you, my readers. I will continue to reveal chapters to all of my readers, but my paying subscribers will get priority access. For those of you who aren’t paying subscribers, the paywall starts after the fifth paragraph in this instalment. If you want to keep reading and supporting my work, it’s only $5AUD per month or you can use the 7-day free trial pass. Just hit the Subscribe Now button below.
Once this story is complete and it takes shape as a manuscript, I hope it will find a home with a publisher and be able to reach many more readers. For those paying subscribers, I will eventually circle back and thank you all for what I hope will be a published book one day.
Some of you have been asking me about where the title of the story comes from. For those of you who aren't immersed in the art world nor studied art, I thought I should explain this choice of title. Chiaroscuro is an Italian term that was coined during the Renaissance to describe a technique of painting that creates drama and depth through strong contrasts of light and dark. Combining two Italian words - chiaro, "light" or "clear," and scuro, "dark" or "obscure," it is an artistic method using gradations of light and shadow to create convincing three-dimensional scenes where figures and objects appear as solid forms. Pioneered by artists Leonardo da Vinci and Caravaggio, it shaped Renaissance, and then Baroque art, and influenced modern visuals, from paintings to film noir.
I've chosen Chiaroscuro as the title of Emery's story to convey the light and dark at play in the art world.
Again - thank you all for being on this journey with Emery. I hope you enjoy the next instalment.
Joey x
Chapter 3
Emery sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the crumpled sheets that had been her refuge for the past week. The afternoon light filtered through the too-short curtains, casting harsh shadows across her small bedroom. A solitary fly hovered over the stacked bowls and plates that had piled up on her desk-cum-dumping ground. If she didn’t leave soon, she might just rot away in here with the peeling paint that crawled down the walls like spiders. She caught sight of colour in her periphery and held her hands up in the air. Paint stains smeared her fingers, the only tangible proof of her attempt to escape from the fragments of remembering that shattered through her glass-like mind.
It had been a week since that night. A week of waiting, hoping, and slowly unravelling. At first, she hoped Cliff might call her and beg to represent her. But as the days kept coming, she realised she’d have to make the call to Hersain gallery. But she’d been putting it off. She wanted to forget what had happened. Leave enough distance between the flickers of skin that made her shudder each time a disjointed recollection blasted through her mind. But she had to act. It was time to call Hersain Gallery and get what was owed to her. It would be worth it. It had to be.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, its screen flashing with Quentin’s and her dad’s names—calls she had ignored, messages left unread. Her breath hitched as she stared at the device. She wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened.
She collapsed backwards onto the bed, her bare shoulders mingling into the softness of her linen sheets, and she took in a deep breath. Then a hazy, image flapped through her mind like a flock of birds. An image she’d tried to push away. Her mind had a way of creating visuals like that. Her young mother: flowing brown tendrils of hair, laughing. Sidled up to Cliff, with his fat, red fingers clutching at her body as if he owned her. She shook her head. No. Cliff was wrong. There was no way they could have dated. She’d done the maths and her mother had been married to her father for twelve years before she’d died. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Then a what if crept in. She could ask her dad about it, but he didn’t seem too thrilled when she mentioned Cliff’s name at the graduation show. No. She would pretend Cliff had said nothing. Pretend her father had not turned his nose up at the mention of the name Hersain. She would get on with it, like she’d always done. She had to forget about what Cliff had said about her mother or it would eat away at her.
She loathed herself for sleeping with Cliff Hersain. It had been a calculated move, a necessary sacrifice, she reminded herself again. She couldn’t let herself think otherwise. Representation by Hersain Gallery could change her life and her career. This was how the art world worked, wasn't it? Connections, favours, and sometimes, compromising one's principles for a chance to be seen. To be successful. Yes. She had done the right thing. She had to believe it.
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