to be sure, had he had any marks to wager. But the warnings had been
too general. Why hadn’t Ussie told him how many other people had been
defrauded by the Biran Lord Holder? The contract had seemed all right,
sounded all right and was as near to a total disaster as made no never
mind. Inexperienced and arrogant, that’s what he was.
Too self-assured to listen to the wisdom of the years of experience
Master Domaize had tried to get through his thick head.
But Master Domaize had a reputation for letting you deal with your own
mistakes – especially the ones unconnected with Art.
Please, Lord Chalkin, would you hold still just a moment longer?
The light is too good to waste,’ lantine said, aware of the twitching
muscles in Chalkin’s fat cheeks. The man didn’t have a tic or anything,
but he could no more be still in his fancy chair than his children.
Impishly, lantine wondered if he could paint’ a twitch – a muscle
rictus – but it was hard enough to make Chalkin look good as it was.
The man’s muddy brown, close-set eyes seemed to cross towards the bridge
of his rather fleshy, bulbous nose – which Iantine had deftly refined.
Master Domaize had often told his students that one had to be discreet
in portraying people, but lantine had argued the matter: that realism
was necessary if the subject wanted a true’ portrait.
True portraits are never realistic, his master had told him -and the
other students in the vast barn of a place where classes were held.
Save realism for landscapes and historical murals, not for portraits.
No-one wants to see themselves as others see them. The successful
portraitist is one who paints with both tact and sympathy.
Iantine remembered railing about dishonesty and pandering to egos.
Master Domaize had looked over the half spectacles he now had to wear if
he wanted to see beyond his nose and smiled that gentle, knowing smile
of his.
Those of us who have learned that the portraitist must also be the
diplomat make a living. Those of us who wish to portray truth end up in
a craft Hall, painting decorative borders.” When the commission to do
miniatures of Lord Chalkin’s young children had been received at Hall
Domaize, there had been no immediate takers.
What’s wrong with it?” Iantine demanded when the notice had stayed on
the board for three weeks with no-one’s initials.
He would shortly sit his final exams at Hall Domaize and had hopes to
pass them creditably.
Chalkin’s what’s wrong with it,’ Ussie said with a cynical snort.
Oh, I know his reputation,’ Iantine replied, blithely flicking a
paint-stained hand, everyone does. But he sets out the conditions,’
and he tapped the document, and they’re all the ones we’re supposed to
ask for.
Ussie smothered a derogatory laugh in his hand and eyed him in the
patronizing way that irritated lantine so. He knew he was a better
draughts man and colourist than Ussie would ever be, and yet Ussie always
acted so superior. lantine knew his general skills were better, and
improving, because of course, in the studio, everyone had a chance to
view everyone else’s work. Ussie’s anatomical sketches looked as if a
mutant had posed as the life model . . . and his use of colour was
bizarre. Ussie did much better with landscapes and was a dab hand at
designing heraldry shields and icons and such peripheral art work.
Yes, but you’ll have to live in Bitra Hold while you’re doing it, and
coming into winter is not the time to live there.
What? To do four miniatures? How long could it take?” Iantine had a
seven-day in mind. Even for very small and active children, that should
be sufficient.
All right, all right, so you’ve always managed to get kids to sit still
for you. But these are Chalkin’s and if they’re anything like him,
you’ll have the devil’s own time getting them to behave long enough to
get an accurate likeness. Only, I sincerely doubt that an “accurate”
likeness is what is required. And I know you, Ian . . . Ussie