Art To Heart - PicFic 9/20
Sep. 20th, 2016 12:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glennagirl.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuI've played with the photo a little and turned into a 60's style portrait for this story. I love pastels and digital tools so much.
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The pose was stringent, a man in deep concentration and still as frozen water. Illya Kuryakin was a man of action, something not visible in his current state.
"You're doing great Illya, just a few more strokes and… Oh my gosh!" The artist sighed with contentment as she compared the canvas image of the man seated across from her. Illya was beautiful no matter where you found him.
"I'm finished, so very finished.' Reese Jones put down her brush with a flourish and motioned for her model to come and examine the painting. Illya was still slightly embarrassed to have been asked to pose for this girl, but he liked her… quite a lot actually. He was grateful she hadn't asked him to pose nude at least.
Reese, so named for her Welsh father, Rhys Jones, had met Illya Kuryakin in a perfectly serendipitous moment, while each of them were shopping for melons at the little market near their homes. She had asked a stranger what he thought of her cantaloupe, which for some reason had made him laugh. That had been the beginning of what was now a comfortable, if still new, friendship. It wasn't romantic, at least not yet. Reese wasn't in a hurry and she didn't think this fellow with the strange accent and very Russian name was a candidate for happily ever after. She just didn't get that vibe from him.
Illya stepped to Reese's side of the canvas to see her work.
"It's very good, if I may say so." He liked this woman. She was smart, talented and, he had to admit it, very pretty. Dark hair and eyes contrasted with her Gaelic complexion. He knew her father was Welsh, but that he had been killed when she was just a baby; a traffic accident while on business in London. Reese was an only child, raised by a determined single mother who brought her to America and remarried after the girl was out of high school.
Of course Illya had been required to check out everything about her, to make certain she wasn't a THRUSH plant of some sort. He hated that part of his life, the constant monitoring and suspicions that filled every corner of his existence. But then something bright and beautiful would happen. Something like Reese.
"So, what are you plans for this, um… for me?" The smile made her swoon a little. Her plans for Illya the man, or Illya the painting?
"Well, if you don't mind, I was hoping to display it with my other work in the gallery. Would that be a problem for you? For your, um… for your uncle?"
Ahh… Was it a problem? The painting was not entirely accurate, it was stylized and perhaps not a view of him that people would necessarily recognize. He didn't want to disappoint Reese.
"I think it is probably an acceptable idea. Perhaps you can place it in the back somewhere, make it difficult to locate." He had to laugh along with her at that idea. No space was hidden in the small gallery in which she showed her work. It was a great honor to be among the artists in the Hashtown Gallery. Yes, he understood the underlying meaning, but he also knew that Reese was not into anything unsavory. She was, to his utter amazement, quite normal. At least in the sense of the excesses being seen in this decade.
"So you think it's okay for me to hang it?" She wanted people to see him, but she also knew his work required a certain degree of anonymity. She would abide by his decision, no matter what.
Illya thought long and hard on it, his job and even his life might be compromised. In spite of his affection for this woman, and how much she obviously wanted to show this piece…
"I think it would be very flattering, but ultimately… " He had to make her understand how precarious the situation could become.
"Reese, if you are identified in such a public way, with something like this painting, as being connected to me…' A great sigh escaped. Illya wanted to let her know how important she was becoming to him, to his life here in New York.
"I can't expose you to danger. It's enough that we are sometimes seen together. You might be mistaken for an agent, or made a target in order to get to me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She nodded, the words she needed to say wouldn't come out. Reese wanted to be seen with him, she wanted… him.
"I do. Understand, that is. Illya…"
"What? I'm so sorry, Reese." She wanted to kiss him, to touch him and love him. He was so vulnerable, this golden man. The colors she had used were the colors she saw in him, the light a means of conveying how elusive he was. If he knew her feelings, it might change everything.
"Nothing. You have a lot to consider and I… I'm just happy to have this." She touched the canvas with a gentle caress, a knowing gesture that this might be all she would ever have of Illya.
Reese was all smiles now as she quickly moved on to another subject. There was not point in dwelling on the painting. It was hers, and if no one else ever saw it, the truth of who Illya was would not be diminished. She knew, she understood… Her heart ached a little at that knowledge.
Illya was aware of a change in the mood. He couldn't engage in a love affair with this woman. He had learned that to love someone was to put them in danger, or worse, to see the look in their eyes when they realized that life with an UNCLE agent was one in which loss was inevitable, disappointment and fear of the unknown a daily event. He was alone for that reason, in spite of the failed attempts to cross over that barrier.
Reese saw something in his eyes now. A resolve that hadn't been there previously. Just like that, it was over.
"I have an opportunity to go to Paris and paint, it's a fellowship with the Sorbonne that will allow me to study and still show my work there. I was unsure about going but.. ' Would he stop her?
"I think it's an extraordinary opportunity." Her words trailed off as she tried to convince herself of their truth. Illya was both relieved and stricken to his core by the news.
"You are a talented artist, Miss Jones. I think you should go and live this chapter, set Paris on her ears.' Illya thought his heart was hurting. He recognized the feeling.
"I can visit you, I'm there frequently… on business… for my uncle."
"Will you really? Things might be different there, for us."
"They might. One can dream, and hope." Waxing poetic. It sounded unnatural.
Illya wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her completely as he drew her into himself. She let her arms encircle his waist as they stood like that for several minutes.
This was as close as it would be for them.
For now.
...........................................................
The pose was stringent, a man in deep concentration and still as frozen water. Illya Kuryakin was a man of action, something not visible in his current state.
"You're doing great Illya, just a few more strokes and… Oh my gosh!" The artist sighed with contentment as she compared the canvas image of the man seated across from her. Illya was beautiful no matter where you found him.
"I'm finished, so very finished.' Reese Jones put down her brush with a flourish and motioned for her model to come and examine the painting. Illya was still slightly embarrassed to have been asked to pose for this girl, but he liked her… quite a lot actually. He was grateful she hadn't asked him to pose nude at least.
Reese, so named for her Welsh father, Rhys Jones, had met Illya Kuryakin in a perfectly serendipitous moment, while each of them were shopping for melons at the little market near their homes. She had asked a stranger what he thought of her cantaloupe, which for some reason had made him laugh. That had been the beginning of what was now a comfortable, if still new, friendship. It wasn't romantic, at least not yet. Reese wasn't in a hurry and she didn't think this fellow with the strange accent and very Russian name was a candidate for happily ever after. She just didn't get that vibe from him.
Illya stepped to Reese's side of the canvas to see her work.
"It's very good, if I may say so." He liked this woman. She was smart, talented and, he had to admit it, very pretty. Dark hair and eyes contrasted with her Gaelic complexion. He knew her father was Welsh, but that he had been killed when she was just a baby; a traffic accident while on business in London. Reese was an only child, raised by a determined single mother who brought her to America and remarried after the girl was out of high school.
Of course Illya had been required to check out everything about her, to make certain she wasn't a THRUSH plant of some sort. He hated that part of his life, the constant monitoring and suspicions that filled every corner of his existence. But then something bright and beautiful would happen. Something like Reese.
"So, what are you plans for this, um… for me?" The smile made her swoon a little. Her plans for Illya the man, or Illya the painting?
"Well, if you don't mind, I was hoping to display it with my other work in the gallery. Would that be a problem for you? For your, um… for your uncle?"
Ahh… Was it a problem? The painting was not entirely accurate, it was stylized and perhaps not a view of him that people would necessarily recognize. He didn't want to disappoint Reese.
"I think it is probably an acceptable idea. Perhaps you can place it in the back somewhere, make it difficult to locate." He had to laugh along with her at that idea. No space was hidden in the small gallery in which she showed her work. It was a great honor to be among the artists in the Hashtown Gallery. Yes, he understood the underlying meaning, but he also knew that Reese was not into anything unsavory. She was, to his utter amazement, quite normal. At least in the sense of the excesses being seen in this decade.
"So you think it's okay for me to hang it?" She wanted people to see him, but she also knew his work required a certain degree of anonymity. She would abide by his decision, no matter what.
Illya thought long and hard on it, his job and even his life might be compromised. In spite of his affection for this woman, and how much she obviously wanted to show this piece…
"I think it would be very flattering, but ultimately… " He had to make her understand how precarious the situation could become.
"Reese, if you are identified in such a public way, with something like this painting, as being connected to me…' A great sigh escaped. Illya wanted to let her know how important she was becoming to him, to his life here in New York.
"I can't expose you to danger. It's enough that we are sometimes seen together. You might be mistaken for an agent, or made a target in order to get to me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She nodded, the words she needed to say wouldn't come out. Reese wanted to be seen with him, she wanted… him.
"I do. Understand, that is. Illya…"
"What? I'm so sorry, Reese." She wanted to kiss him, to touch him and love him. He was so vulnerable, this golden man. The colors she had used were the colors she saw in him, the light a means of conveying how elusive he was. If he knew her feelings, it might change everything.
"Nothing. You have a lot to consider and I… I'm just happy to have this." She touched the canvas with a gentle caress, a knowing gesture that this might be all she would ever have of Illya.
Reese was all smiles now as she quickly moved on to another subject. There was not point in dwelling on the painting. It was hers, and if no one else ever saw it, the truth of who Illya was would not be diminished. She knew, she understood… Her heart ached a little at that knowledge.
Illya was aware of a change in the mood. He couldn't engage in a love affair with this woman. He had learned that to love someone was to put them in danger, or worse, to see the look in their eyes when they realized that life with an UNCLE agent was one in which loss was inevitable, disappointment and fear of the unknown a daily event. He was alone for that reason, in spite of the failed attempts to cross over that barrier.
Reese saw something in his eyes now. A resolve that hadn't been there previously. Just like that, it was over.
"I have an opportunity to go to Paris and paint, it's a fellowship with the Sorbonne that will allow me to study and still show my work there. I was unsure about going but.. ' Would he stop her?
"I think it's an extraordinary opportunity." Her words trailed off as she tried to convince herself of their truth. Illya was both relieved and stricken to his core by the news.
"You are a talented artist, Miss Jones. I think you should go and live this chapter, set Paris on her ears.' Illya thought his heart was hurting. He recognized the feeling.
"I can visit you, I'm there frequently… on business… for my uncle."
"Will you really? Things might be different there, for us."
"They might. One can dream, and hope." Waxing poetic. It sounded unnatural.
Illya wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her completely as he drew her into himself. She let her arms encircle his waist as they stood like that for several minutes.
This was as close as it would be for them.
For now.
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Date: 2016-09-20 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 05:51 pm (UTC)I like the note of hope at the end. Paris, eh?
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Date: 2016-09-20 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 06:48 pm (UTC)Your artwork is beautiful, just like him...
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Date: 2016-09-20 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-20 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-22 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-23 03:42 am (UTC)