Bartle Clunes - Chapter 24
Bartle's One-Man Show
All previous chapters are listed in order in the Bartle Clunes archive. Click here . If you are new, please start here Introduction to Bartle Clunes .
El Dorado County 1950
On the road down to Sacramento, Bartle looked over at his wife and said, “I am not sure we will be able to find common ground with the people who come out for this show tonight, Louvina, but here is what I think. I have found that most people love to talk about themselves, so if we give these folks any encouragement, they will do all the talking and think we are fascinating people.” She laughed at the truth of that. “I may be wrong, but I do think the best way to get anybody to remember you is to show you are interested in them, even if you might not be,” he added.
Bartle would do fine with these new acquaintances; he knew how to adapt his speech and his manner to suit different social settings. Louvina, on the other hand, often found subtlety to be elusive. She spoke with all the people she encountered in the same honest, unfiltered way. She did not suffer fools or stupidity readily. She said what was on her mind, even if sometimes it might not be the most helpful. She admitted it was a failing on her part, and she promised her husband that she would try to hold her opinions back for one evening. “I do agree with you, Bartle,“ she said, “and I'll try to behave myself. Mostly, we want people to see your work and take it home with them. That's the goal, right?”
“It is,” he said.
There were already eleven visitors in the gallery when Bartle and Louvina arrived. They were standing about drinking wine in groups, talking to acquaintances, pointing at and commenting on the art. The background music was La Stravaganza. Vivaldi, thought Louvina, a perfect choice for the occasion. When Mr. Blake saw them in the doorway, he strode over and shook their hands, all smiles.
“Welcome, welcome! Come in! What do you think?” he asked, indicating the brightly lit room. Bartle was somewhat surprised at how impressive his work actually looked when the entire room was all his.
“A fine presentation here, Stephen,” he said, shaking his head. “The layout is perfect. Thank you again for your confidence in my work and for this fine opportunity.” Louvina surveyed the room and was slightly bowled over.
“Now, who do you know? Anyone?” the gallery owner asked, looking around. “Please, come with me. Let me introduce you to a few people.” Louvina signaled to Bartle to go on ahead, she wanted to have a look around. He gave her a high sign and a smile as Mr Blake spirited him off, leaving her on her own.
Louvina took a turn around the gallery. She introduced herself to two nice looking, well-dressed women standing by the food table. They gave her a quick look up and down and handed her a friendly glass of wine. She was no wine drinker, but accepted it graciously and introduced herself. “My name is Louvina. I am Mr. Clunes' wife. Thank you for coming to his show. Then, remembering Bartle's suggestion, she added, “Tell me about yourselves!”
The women readily took turns talking about themselves and their families for nearly a half hour. Louvina smiled and nodded, listening attentively. They learned that she had two goats and made soap, which, apparently, was all they needed to know about her.
By eight o'clock, the gallery was crowded, the event in full swing. The room was filled with talking and laughter, friends getting caught up, strangers being introduced, everyone helping themselves to good wine and food. Louvina excused herself politely from a loquacious woman who had introduced herself as Margaret, and walked about listening in on the comments of critics, news reporters, patrons. She noticed a few people appeared to have come mainly for the free food and drink, but everyone seemed to have opinions about what they were looking at.
“... remarkable, don't you think? ... absolutely stunning! … such drama!... vivid use of color ... exquisite texture ... a little bleak for my taste ... all the colors of the earth ... who is this man? ... lovely collection ... I've never heard of him ... so impressed... I hear he is from up near Placerville”
Louvina's eyes followed Bartle's progress around the room for a while. He was smiling, humbly accepting compliments and congratulations, fending off the blatant flirting of a few of the women. He made a brief comment and one young woman in a skimpy dress laughed a little too loudly and touched his arm in a rather intimate way. Bartle glanced over at his wife, raising his eyebrows, tipping his head to one side. Louvina smiled at him and continued to take in the lively conversations, the occasional words of appreciation. She saw red tags attached to three paintings. She hoped that might mean “SOLD”.
Bartle, being guided by Mr. Blake to yet another group, passed by Louvina, He paused to give her a quick kiss and whispered in her ear, “Only a half hour to go. You okay?” he asked. She winked and nodded, promising him a full report later.
She saw an older man studying a small painting. He had been examining it for quite a long time. Bent over, peering closely, he reached out and touched it with a fingertip. She stood there next to him for a moment, then said, “You seem especially enamored of that one.”
The man jumped, “Oh. Excuse me! I was just studying the artist's technique. I find this thick impasto at the bottom here very effective. It gives weight….and it is a brilliant composition, don't you think?
“I do like that one. It’s one of my favorites. What do you see when you look at it?”
“You know, it is not so much what I see that I especially admire,“ he continued. “It is the way I feel, as if they were asking me to come in, sit down and listen.”
Louvina agreed. “I have felt that way myself about Mr. Clunes' work. It is much more than what your eyes tell you, isn't it?”
“Indeed it is. I would love to have it, but, alas, the budget of a retired school teacher allows me only to dream.”
Louvina then overheard a slightly snide intonation about ten feet away. Curious, she stood off to one side, pretending to be occupied with something in her bag. From their conversation, she gathered that the two men were probably minor figures in the local art world. They were quietly, superciliously dissecting the work in front of them.
“Well....not much nuance, in my opinion. Impossible to interpret. Childish scrawl. Where did Blake find this man?”
“Up in the foothills, I am told.”
“Ah. A hillbilly!” he smirked. “Such repetitious themes and colors, no variation. He apparently has just one note and plays it over and over.”
“I think Blake is taking a huge risk showing this man's work. A mistake that will have others doubting his taste, and his good sense.”
Louvina was just about to say something, but she remembered her promise to Bartle and just smiled at them. But then … after all … she was his wife...
“Gentlemen, I just happened to overhear your comments and you seem so knowledgeable, I was wondering if I could ask your opinion on this one painting over here?” The two men looked at each other then followed her to the corner of the south wall.
Bartle looked up and saw his wife with two men in front of one of his paintings. Something about the gleam in her eye, the look on her face, sounded a brief alarm in his head. He excused himself from the group he was speaking with and walked directly over to her.
“Louvina?” he said, smiling at the men.
“Oh, hello Bartle, I was just about to have my education improved by virtue of these two men's further comments on your work. They have been quite informative already. Gentlemen, may I present my husband, Bartle Clunes, the one-note painter. 'One note' they say, Bartle,” and, turning to the non-plussed men, she added, “But what a stunning note it is, don't you think?”
“You have a fine collection here, Mr Clunes,” said one man, stiffly.
“Yes! We wish you every success!” said the other, shaking Bartle's hand.
“And another thing,” continued Louvina, “I...”
“So good to meet you, gentlemen,” Bartle jumped in. “Thank you for coming out tonight. I hope you enjoyed the show. Louvina, I believe it is time we are headed back.”
They left the gallery after many a 'thank-you-for-coming' to the visitors, hand shakes, promises to meet again. Blake seemed elated and said he would call them for a recap in the morning.
On the drive home, they reviewed who they had met and what they had seen and heard in the gallery. One woman had told Louvina that one of the paintings would just match her sofa perfectly and she was going to buy it. She also had a conversation with a very interesting retired couple who were traveling through on their way to Fargo and thought the wine and cheese were excellent.
A man had asked Bartle about commissioning a portrait of his wife. He’d explained to him, politely and apologetically, why he could not do that. A young woman hung on to Bartle for twenty minutes, telling him all about her husband who was a budding artist, describing his work, inviting Bartle to come to their house in Roseville to see it. Bartle had had a little trouble getting away politely. He said the three journalists who came were very complimentary, but he was not sure they were being truthful.
Mr. Blake called the next day toward evening and congratulated Bartle on selling a record number of six paintings in one night.
A few days later, they read the Sacramento Bee's review of the gallery show and were delighted. “Now that is very astute reporting!” said Louvina, sipping her coffee. The Mountain Democrat was also quite effusive about their local hero, in a small-town sort of way. “The Oakland Tribune is not so enthusiastic here,” she said, “but, Oakland? How much could they know?” Bartle kissed his wife, delighted with her analyses.
“They learned that she had two goats and made soap, which, apparently, was all they needed to know about her.”
This made me laugh!
Well done, Bartle.
I love how Louvina handled the critics. . . she was polite, sweet, and definitely made her point.