2015 Anniversary Challenge
Rebels, Ribbons, and High Renaissance
by Cindy Rae
"So this is a gift from your friend, Jenny?" Vincent asked, eying the rather large rectangular box on Catherine's table.
"Yes, she sent it over, and I've been dying to show it to you. They're publishing it where she works, and the color plates are gorgeous," Catherine said, producing a heavy, wide tome from the box.
"An art book?" he asked. Mona Lisa smiled at him from the cover.
"Incredible art. Life-changing. History-making. Sometimes the piece which defined a generation or a movement. And Jenny says the photographer got special permission to get close and set up the shots, so the colors in the book are very true to the originals," Catherine said, flipping to the French Impressionists.
"See? Impression, sunrise is in here." She showed him the painting that had named the French Impressionist movement.
Impression, sunrise by Claude Monet
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"The book is so large because several of the color plates are the same size as the canvases." She propped the book up on the table, using a bowl and a pair of candlesticks as a makeshift easel.
"Jenny says in the right lighting, this will be almost the same as seeing the original piece in the Metropolitan or the Louvre."
"Really?" Vincent's curiosity was immediately piqued.
"Don't be disappointed, now. The Starry Night was good-sized, but not as big as some of the posters out there make it seem," she said, flipping to that page. It was entirely the famous Van Gogh painting, on a page with a foldout leaf.
"I don't think the original has a crease in the middle," Vincent observed, impressed nonetheless. The colors were vibrantly brilliant. He drew nearer to the book, wanting to see the impressive reproduction of the famous painting.
"This is beautiful, Catherine." Vincent's blue eyes took in Van Gogh's moon. The paper used for the painting was archival and heavy, and the colors shimmered with indigo and black. The oversized book was expensive treasure.
The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh
~~
"And there are no security measures to keep us back." Catherine smiled her pleasure as she watched her love step even closer to the lovely print. "Of course, I could set up a rope line, if you wanted," she teased.
Vincent smiled back at her. "That won't be necessary." He carefully turned the page to a wonderful Renoir portrait. "She's lovely," he said.
Not content to leave the book on her table, for the next hour or so, the two settled down on the floor with their prize.
"I know this isn't quite like seeing the pictures in a museum, but still. It's a wonderful book." Catherine sighed thoughtfully as she browsed through the section on Picasso. A greatly reduced version of Guernica stared back at her. The original Picasso was huge.
"Sometimes art is very political." Vincent admired the masterwork.
"And some is so personal," Catherine replied, turning to a picture of a Leonardo da Vinci self-portrait.
Statuary was represented as well, even though the pictures of those couldn't be “life sized” as many of the canvasses were. Michelangelo was well represented. But whenever Catherine looked at the statue of Michelangelo's David, she chuckled a little.
"Something about this statue amuses you, my Catherine?" Vincent asked as Catherine barely hid a broad grin while viewing Michelangelo's masterpiece of High Renaissance sculpture. David glared back at her from the middle of the page. Fiercely.
"The one they had at my college caused quite an uproar."
"You had a statue of David at your college?" He was impressed.
She traced the photograph with her hand, letting her fingers stray near the middle of the page. "My sorority raised money for the art section of the library. Jenny wanted some nice copies of the statuary and some vases made. Once we raised enough money for a plaster copy of David, this professor, Dr. Pinkerton, was in charge of ordering it and having it shipped."
Vincent nodded, following her story.
"It was smaller than the original, of course, but still pretty large. It was set up in the fine arts section of the library, and we were all excited to go see it. But it came with a fig leaf, strategically placed. Jenny had a fit."
It took Vincent a moment to understand what she meant.
"A ... fig leaf?"
"To cover, well, you know, that part of him.” Catherine grinned. “Jenny had seen the original, and she was a purist. You should have heard her reaction! I think she rattled windows in Florence."
Vincent smiled. "If Father's lessons on the subject are correct, Queen Victoria may have had something to do with the custom of covering some of the works of the old masters."
Catherine nodded. "They say a wonderful copy of the original was made, but when she saw it, she was aghast, so they made a fig leaf to cover him up and would run get it whenever a royal visit was expected. It was removable."
"So I take it the one at your college came with a fig leaf? Unexpectedly?"
"Dr. Pinkerton ran what went on display at the library. He was a thousand years old and he had his pick, I suppose. He went with the covered version."
"And your friend was ... upset?"
Catherine nodded. "She got into a terrible argument with him." Catherine's smile grew broad with memory. "We were all still in the library, so it was supposed to be quiet. People were in there studying. But Jenny wasn't getting anywhere with him, so it kept getting louder and louder."
Catherine was clearly remembering the incident fondly, judging by her smile. She spread her hands to indicate an increase in volume. "They were fighting about what constituted 'offensive,'" Catherine explained as Vincent nodded.
"It ended with Jenny almost yelling something like ‘It's not like someone tied a big pink ribbon around his genitals!' In a loud, clear voice. Everybody looked up!"
Vincent couldn't help but chuckle at her description.
"Needless to say, we were all done studying in the library for that afternoon." Her green eyes twinkled with merriment.
"So what happened? Did your professor relent?" Vincent asked.
Catherine smothered a grin with her fingertips. "Um ... Someone broke into the library, stole the fig leaf, and tied a big pink bow around ... it." Her eyes were guileless. "And I have no idea who. And that's my story and I'm sticking to it!" But she couldn't contain her conspirator's smile or the chuckle that followed it.
"Didn't you tell me once that Jenny was the president of your sorority?" Vincent asked, as her giggles subsided.
"Yep. Jen was the top banana."
"And you?" Vincent pressed.
"Second banana. I was vice president," Catherine admitted.
Vincent's mock-somber tone pretended a seriousness he was far from feeling. "Catherine. Did you deface a famous work of art by tying a pink ribbon around it?"
Her answering laughter was infectious, but she shook her head. "I refuse to answer the question, your honor, on the grounds it may incriminate me. And I think I was actually driving the getaway car at the time." She held the big book up to her face and pretended to hide behind its contents, before lowering it to see his steady blue eyes still on her, a soft smile on his handsomely unique face.
"How did things unfold from there?" he asked, wanting both to keep her talking and to know the rest of the story.
Vincent greatly enjoyed the feelings shimmering through her as she told her story. She was bubbly and carefree in her reminiscing. She was suddenly twenty years old again inside, and they both felt it. He could sense the good feeling inside her, flowing through their bond.
Nostalgia. This is what nostalgia feels like for her, he thought. She felt young and full of adventure and good memories. Her mirth was a warm presence in the room.
Her ensuing chuckles broke the sentence apart. "Dr. Pinkerton said we would have to move the statue to the ... back of the history section, where ... where nobody ever goes, and ... out of the main hallway. That the fig leaf could stay boxed ... as long as the ribbon stayed boxed, as well."
She couldn't get any sentence out without laughing. Her hands waved in the air, indicating there was more. "I haven't thought of this in years! They set up the statue again, and … and we all wore ... wore ... pink ribbons in our ... hair that week!" She could barely get the words out, as laughter shook her small frame.
"You didn't."
"We did!" She brushed away tears. "I have the picture somewhere. We're standing all around him like groupies! Jenny has a giggle-fit every time she sees it! Oh, we were bad!"
David, by Michelangelo
She had been. And in a way that was clearly making her very happy to recall it.
"Were her parents upset that you'd caused so much trouble?" he asked.
Catherine calmed and shook her head. "Jenny's mom was very progressive. Her dad just kind of shrugged. And you know my dad. He's conservative, but he's not a prude. And besides, we won! Sort of. As long as you didn’t mind trooping down to the section on the Etruscans,” she concluded.
"It sounds like your professor proposed a workable compromise."
"I only know Jenny and I swapped birthday gifts that year, and the boxes were tied with yards of pink ribbon. So I suppose she thought so, too."
Her joy was a lovely thing to share. He took the heavy book from her and gently set it aside. "I never knew you were such a rebel in your younger days, Catherine." His pleasure with her was evident in his continuing, soft smile.
"I blame Jenny Aaronson's influence completely. And when that doesn't work, I'd like to think it's a bit like Winston Churchill used to say," she pretended to pontificate, “’If you're not a liberal when you're young, you have no heart. If you're not conservative when you're older, you have no brains.’"
He arched a blonde eyebrow at her. If she thought he was going to let this go by her invoking Winston Churchill, she had another think coming. "Is that what you are, my Catherine? A conservative?" He rose from the floor as he said it and helped her up with one hand while he held the book in the other.
"Oh, I don't know," she admitted, taking the beautiful volume and setting it back in its box. She turned and took his huge hands in hers. "I'd say there's still a bit of a rebel inside me, all things considered." Her happiness enveloped her like the soft sweater she wore.
"All things considered?" he asked.
She smiled up at him. "You. This year. All the changes, and all the ... decisions I've made. That we've made, together. I'd say we're both rebels. And you're as bad as Jenny.” She gave his warm hands a squeeze to let him know she didn’t mind that at all. “You're a corrupting influence." Her smile was an inviting one.
He leaned his head lower. Closer to hers. "Am I?" he husked, trailing his large hands up her lovely arms. Renoir never had a more beautiful model. Of that he was certain.
His soft hair fell forward, curtaining her view so that it was full of blue eyes and the amazingly unique face that was Vincent’s own. If Leonardo da Vinci could only have drawn you, she thought.
"I’d say so,” she answered, feeling the atmosphere in the room shift ... and soften.
Her cheeks were still a little pink from her pleasure. “You've changed my life completely,” she said. “Brought out the rebel in me. Again." She placed her hands loosely around his waist, holding him in a soft embrace.
If he’d changed her life, she’d certainly returned the favor and then some, he reasoned. And yes, everything from his regular visits to her balcony, to her decision to leave her father’s law firm, were ways of pushing back against the safe, conservative limits that life had set for them.
They were indeed rebels. They’d had to be, to find their way toward each other, to continue the way forward.
"They say a little rebellion is good for the soul, my Catherine." He settled his hands at the small of her back. She felt warm. Happy. Like she was his.
"I can vouch for that," she replied, just before he lowered his magnificent head for a rebel's kiss.
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No matter where you are in your own rebellion, I wish you love. ~ Cindy
The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt
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