Marcie was standing exactly where he’d left her, gazing at a particularly favourite painting he always loved. Not that Michael didn’t like the others but this one was very special; he couldn’t explain why, it just happened that way on occasion.
He set two coffee on a nearby table and invited the lovely blond blue-eyed woman to have a seat. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so there’s cream and sugar if needed.”
“Oh, cream is good, thank you.” She poured some into the steaming cup and sat comfortably on the high back chair.
“Michael Garrack,” she pointed at the painting, “I take it that’s you?”
Standing he reach out and proffered a hand, “Yes, that would be me. And you are?”
“Marcie Makefield.” She took his hand in hers, noticed dabs of paint on a large warm hand engulfing hers and smiled.
He waited a moment before asking, “What do you paint? Are you into landscapes, portraits?”
“I dabble in portraits, which are my favourite paintings, but I also paint landscapes, gardens mostly.” Taking a sip of coffee and savouring the flavour she added, “I don’t have your talent, I only wished I did.”
“Your very kind,” he conceded.
“How long have you panted, Marcie?”
“Not that long actually. A friend was visiting and asked if I wanted to try something different and when I said yes, she pulled out a small canvas and some paints and suggested I have a go. I thought, why not, something new. And that was it, as they say, I was hooked and painted in every spare moment I could. My family encouraged me to take some lessons and I followed through with it, but I soon realized that I would never be more than an amateur. I might love art, but I know my limitations.” Her smile held chagrin. “After seeing these magnificent pieces, I’m glad I made that decision.”
“How about you?” she questioned after taking another sip of ambrosia.
“Oh, my whole life. I was painting a picture down by the creek that runs adjacent to our family home. My family was always begging me to paint them or draw something, and for the most part, I obliged. I loved it, it’s like breathing to me. I don’t’ think I can last a day without putting brush to canvas.”
“How did you get started on the thimble-like pieces? That is beyond amazing. So tiny yet so exact. I can’t fathom being able to downsize to that degree.”
“Purely by accident. I was visiting a friend and as payment for allowing me to stay, I found a little piece of wood and I painted her a picture. She had it mounted on a specific frame and it’s hung in her home ever since.”
“She’s a relative by marriage and my sister and I often visit her. She’s an honorary matriarch to the family if you will.”
“I can’t help but keep returning to that picture of the “crew” dancing. How did that come about? It’s so lively, you’ve captured the verve, the excitement, the motion with such a delightful glee.”
“My sister’s daughters both dance and they were practicing at her home and I popped in to say hi and couldn’t resist.”
“It’s magnificent. I almost expect they’ll dance off the canvas, it’s so real!”