The Art of Curating Romance - Chapter 2

That evening, on the opening night of the exhibition, the gallery was filled to the brim.

...As if. Natalie wished. The trouble was that the Art History Department and interested arts students were few and far between these days. Natalie also wasn't particularly skilled at social media marketing. Usually one of their student interns was supposed to do that, but given how the intern often did not show up to work, she supposed that they also hadn't been promoting the exhibition.

Nevertheless, there were a few people. Helen, her advisor and the Senior Curator of the museum, was chatting in the corner with a couple of professors from the Art History Department, wine glasses in hand. A few excited art history students were happily chatting and pointing at details on the paintings. Others were poring over the labels, and still others were just scattered about the hall, soaking up the atmosphere.

Normally, Natalie would be with Helen and the professors, but this time, she stood outside the main exhibition hall, idly fiddling with her phone. There were no messages. No emails. No notifications even from the persistent, spammy games she had littered her phone with. 

Not that she would have paid much attention to those anyway. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Martin, and how they'd kissed that morning. 

What was wrong with her? She detested the man from the very first moment she'd laid eyes upon him. He was arrogant and snobby. Stuffy, with the belief that only his opinions were valid and everything else was below him. Sure, he was pleasing to the eye, but he was the epitome of what she despised in academia, why she chose a somewhat different route than doing a PhD, like perhaps she should have... 

At that exact moment, she heard some students squeal. "Professor Laurent!"

She stiffened and took a quick glance through the doorframe at the main exhibition. From the other entrance, in strode Martin Laurent, still wearing that black turtleneck from earlier, though this time sporting a jacket over it. He looked insufferable and handsome.

She zipped back behind the wall so he couldn't see her peering at him through the doorframe. She heard the students speak in excited voices. "Fancy seeing you outside of class! Thanks for inviting us to this. It's an amazing exhibition—"

Normally, Natalie would be pleased that someone was acknowledging and appreciating the work she put in, but all she could think of now was how the hell she could escape. What on earth was he doing here? (Okay, maybe this was his field of study, but still.)

"Natalie!"

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of her boss calling her name. 

"Oh dear," Helen said. "Where could she have gone? Pritha, hold my drink for a moment, will you—"

Before Helen dumped her things on poor Pritha, Natalie sprang out from behind the doorframe. "Hello! Yes, I'm here! Sorry, I had to, uh... take an important phone call."

"Come and give a few words, now, why don't you?"

"I—" Natalie started, but Helen was already walking away, gesturing towards a small podium area that had been set up for the evening's discussion. "Don't you want to do this?"

"Nonsense!" Helen said. "You did most of the work, so you should do the honors."

"I... uh..." Knowing better than to argue, Natalie thanked her. She took a deep breath and channeled her own inner Helen. Though she had the habit of leaving Natalie with a lot of work, Helen was still everything Natalie admired in a curator: sharp, direct, and impossibly composed no matter the circumstance. So Natalie stepped up to the podium and decidedly did not look Martin's way. She would not be fazed.

-

Martin wasn't used to being ignored. He'd seen Natalie when he'd first walked into the museum, but then she went and hid somewhere, so he waited a little bit before striding in.

He was intrigued. She was giving her little speech on the podium, explaining the concept of the exhibition and the logic of the setup. He watched her, mesmerized. How had he let her slip away from him? Why wouldn't she glance his way? 

He knew that she was intense, guarded, and perfectly capable of silencing him with nothing more than a sharp look. When he first met her, there was something fascinating about her stubborn independence, her feisty spirit. And he'd sensed that she was someone with great potential who wanted to prove herself. 

In the past, he might have called her competitive. Or overly driven. Churlish. Now? He found her infuriatingly attractive. He couldn't get their kiss off of his mind. Though of course, he wouldn't admit it out loud.

But as she stood there, poised, commanding the room with ease and with perfect grace, he realized that it was no wonder she was in charge of the exhibition. She was strong, smart, and beautiful. Once, she brushed her hair across her shoulder, and he found the exposed curve of her neck unbearably sexy. The things he'd wanted to do to her that morning when they'd kissed... He took a sip of alcohol. 

No, he tried to tell himself. Not going down that road. You're only here a year. No broken hearts, please.

-

The speech felt like it had lasted an eternity, but to her surprise, she was met with very enthusiastic applause from the small audience. She gave a little bow, and was rewarded with a wine glass from Helen. 

"Fascinating reading of The Annunciation," someone's voice said, low and teasing.

She spun around to see Martin standing there, himself holding a glass. She scowled at him and took a sip from her glass.

"I'm curious. It differs from what I'd say at my lecture. Do you think the space in the painting represents the Virgin's inner sanctum, or is it merely a device to accentuate her purity?"

Don't do this, she tried to warn herself, but she couldn't help it. It seemed a simple enough question.

"Both, actually," she said, meeting his gaze. "Fra Angelico's use of negative space is deliberately constructed to isolate the Virgin and separate her from the background, which reflects her spiritual purity. But I think more importantly, it's the interaction of spaces that is meant to show the disruption of the ordinary."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Very interesting."

"Is it?" she asked, suddenly feeling a bit strange. People didn't usually ask her questions on how she interpreted artwork. She was just the one who hung it up and gave it a label. The professors treated her as the PR girl, and often spoke quite condescendingly about her gallery choices. Him included. Why was he suddenly interested in what she had to say?

"What do you think? How do you think he's using the space here?" she dared to ask, taking another generous sip of wine.

"Hmm," he said. "I agree with you. The space here isn't just a physical representation. But I view it more as a symbolic reflection of the divine and human realms intersecting. Fra Angelico is creating this sacred space and then emphasizing the deep contrast with the mundane."

"I think I can see that," she said. "But I also think that the light, the simplicity of the room — it's clear that in spite of the contrast, it is a harmonious union between the divine and earthly as well. The light that surrounds Gabriel, the way that the room seems to envelope Mary in purity... it's not an intrusion. It's a moment of transcendence."

Martin raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a faint smile. "Transcendence? Really now? I'm not sure if the light is as comforting as you think it is. Don't you think it's harsh? It's a rather unsettling intrusion."

Natalie leaned forward, forgetting whatever happened earlier in the day. She felt a slight flush creeping up her neck. "But that's the point! Gabriel's light isn't meant to be soft or comforting. It's meant to be powerful. Overwhelming."

They squabbled over that for a while, going back and forth over whether Martin's interpretation was too rigid, too academic in its approach, or if Natalie's was too humanistic and lacking structure.

Thanks to the alcohol, Natalie found her tongue loosening. "But I just see it differently. I think it's to emphasize the enormity of what's happening. It disturbs the space, but in a way to suggest the immense power of the divine interrupting the ordinary."

"So you're saying it's an imposition," Martin said with a raised brow, his voice a little quieter as he turned to face the print on the wall. "I think I understand. It's not about the environment that message enters."

"No," she agreed, also looking up at the painting. "It's a space that asks us to reckon with divine intrusion. When something fantastic strikes you and brings you out of the ordinary. Takes you somewhere you never thought you would go."

"Yeah," Martin said, voice suddenly barely a whisper.

Natalie's breath caught as she realized they were both leaning a little too close to each other, the space between them shrinking in subtle increments. Her pinky finger brushed against his, sending a spark of warmth shooting up in her. Martin's hand twitched. 

They both froze. Neither reached out further.

And then, as if some unspoken agreement had passed between them, they both drew back. The space between them was wide again. 

Goodness, the alcohol was making her funny.

Natalie cleared her throat, her pulse still racing. "Well. I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree. For now."

Martin nodded, voice a bit distant as he replied, "For now." But the intense look in his eyes was sending an altogether different message. She felt like she was melting beneath it.

She forced herself to turn away from him and sidled up to Helen and another professor. Before she could be swept away again like an idiot and kiss this obnoxious man. Before she could realize that maybe she actually kind of thought he was very attractive.