#i didnt want to use watercolor so i settled for shading and came to find out its just as scoliosis inducing as the other 😍

[ketzzzel]

head empty only tony stark lol

drew this for a principles of design assignment (emphasis and movement)

- close up vid under the cut

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Please more of artist Jamie!!! So beautiful!

Follow up to this story

--

January 1976

 Elias Pound had known Mandy MacKenzie for all of fourmonths – but he already knew he’d gladly follow her anywhere.

 So when she proposed they spend an evening at a downtownart gallery – in a neighborhood she called SoHo (“But we have one of those inLondon,” he had protested – and she’d replied “This one has a capitalized H,silly goose”) – he immediately leapt at the chance to be with her. Even if itmeant following her on the subway (“Don’t you have one of those in London?” shehad teased), gaping at the half-beautiful, half-terrifying graffiti scrawledover the walls and seats and windows and exterior of the cars, stepping around thegarbage and panhandlers on the platform at Times Square and Grand Central whenthey transferred from the 1 to the Shuttle and then to the 6.

 Once above ground at Spring Street, he thought she’d madea mistake – for the neighborhood appeared to be stone dead, even at arelatively early hour.

 “Where is everybody?” Elias dug his hands into thepockets of his peacoat, pulse rocketing from a mix of fear and sheer joy asMandy slipped her mitten-clad hand through his arm.

 “Barely anyone lives down here,” she explained, lookingboth ways before stepping off the curb. “It’s mostly artists and galleries.They love the big old buildings – fantastic twenty-foot ceilings in the rooms.”

 A cab appeared out of nowhere, horn blaring. Mandy tuggedhis arm to stop – and the cab squealed by, the driver hurling obscenities.Calmly Mandy kept walking down Broadway, turning right onto Prince Street.

 “And how did you find out about this exhibit?”

 His eyes darted over to her; she just smiled and keptwalking.

 “Here we are!”

 And they were – for in the first sign of life since they’dleft the subway, a line snaked out of an industrial metal doorway and aroundthe corner. Elias could only see a tiny sign above the door – The Broch Gallery – and a burly man outfront, clearly the security guard.

 Elias steeled himself to wait outside in the cold –regretting he hadn’t brought his knit cap – but then Mandy marched right up tothe man at the door.

 “Hi – I’m Mandy MacKenzie,” she explained. “Elias here ismy guest. I should be on the list.”

 The man fished in his pocket and produced an index card;he squinted, looked up at Mandy, and nodded. “All set, miss. Coat check is onyour left.”

 “Thank you,” she smiled sweetly, taking Elias’ hand anddrawing him inside.

 A woman wearing black took their coats and handed themeach a small booklet. Before Elias could even glance at the cover, they turned anothercorner and came face-to-face with a panel of text on a gallery wall.

 JAMES FRASER: ART WITHOUT LIMIT, 1920-1975 – A RETROSPECTIVE

 Elias could see several dozen people milling around in atleast six adjacent galleries, sipping champagne, studying the walls intently.

 “Who’s James Fraser?” he whispered.

 Mandy looped her arm through his. “Someone I’ve admiredmy whole life. You’ll see why. Don’t bother reading the labels – I’ll be yourtour guide.”

 And she was.

 The first gallery displayed small pastels and watercolorsof New York City street scenes in the 1920s – old cars rumbling down widestreets, women in elegant dresses pushing old-fashioned baby carriages onsidewalks, children playing tag on a gorgeous summer day in Prospect Park, ruddy-facedmen toasting their joy in cavernous long-gone beer halls.

 These were interspersed with photographs. A combinationof society portraits and even more street scenes.

 “Is that the Flatiron Building?”

 “It is. Can you believe that it wasn’t yet twenty years oldwhen this photograph was taken? Even then it was still so controversial.”

 Elias tilted his head at a series of three of formal,posed paintings of different women. “Who were they?”

 “Wives of wealthy businessmen and lawyers.” Mandy noddeda thank-you to the woman who offered a tray of snacks. “He made a good livingas a portraitist. Back in the day, that was a way for men to show how muchmoney they had – by paying an artist to paint their wives. Even after photographybecame popular – they still insisted on it.”

 Elias chewed thoughtfully. “I’d think it still is a wayfor men to show how much money they have. Someone I went to school with – I rememberthere was a painting of his mother in the house. I never quite understood it.”

 Mandy led them to the next room – and Elias’ jaw justabout dropped.

 It was another portrait – but so radically different fromwhat he had just seen.

 A beautiful woman – her curly brown hair rioting aroundher ethereal face – wearing a dress that could only be described as anincredible shade of electric blue. Surrounded by sumptuous plants andblue-and-white Chinese porcelain. Strongly, confidently facing the viewer – a hintof mischief evident on her perfect lips.

 “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Mandy squeezed his hand. “Thiswas the first work that truly got him noticed.”

 “I should think so,” Elias breathed. “She’s – she’s so alive. So much more alive and presentthan in what we saw in the other room.”

 “The artistry is without comparison,” Mandy agreed. “But thescandal that surrounded the painting made it even more notorious.”

 “Scandal? What scandal? It’s a modest dress.”

 She shook her head. “This portrait was commissioned byFrank Randall, on the occasion of his wife Claire’s thirtieth birthday, in thefall of 1925.”

 “Frank Randall? As in Randall Steel? That Randall?”

 “The same,” she grinned. “Anyway – Claire Randall wasvery famous in New York society at the time for throwing very grand parties attheir townhouse on East Sixty-Eighth Street. Somehow James Fraser got aninvitation to one of their parties – and once Frank learned he was an artist,he commissioned him to paint Claire.”

 “I don’t see what’s so scandalous about that.”

 Mandy smirked above her flute of champagne. “Well – you canimagine that Claire got to know the artist quite well as he painted herportrait. So well that when the painting was delivered to the Randalltownhouse, she told Frank she was leaving him, packed her bags, and moved inwith Jamie.”

 “Oh my God!” Elias exclaimed. “Did she take the portraitwith her?”

 “Of course! It hung in Jamie’s studio on East TwelfthStreet for many years.”

 “And did they stay together?”

 Mandy set down her empty flute on a passing waiter’s tray,and took Elias’ half-empty flute. “See for yourself.”

 The next gallery was full of Claire Randall. Oilpaintings of her draped in a Japanese kimono. Pastel drawings of her reclining nudein bed, surrounded by rumpled sheets. Striking, black-and-white photographs ofher hands forming different shapes, and the curve of her spine, and the back ofher neck.

 “She was his muse,” Elias murmured.

 Mandy nodded. “My favorite is right over there.”

 It was a small photograph – just about as big as aletter-sized sheet of paper. At the bottom right of the frame was a reflectionof the old-style camera; at the middle of the frame was Claire caught mid-laugh;and peeking over her shoulder was a man – hair parted down one side, eyescreasing with laughter.

 “It’s called Joy;he took the photograph on their wedding day,” Mandy whispered. “In a publicbathroom at City Hall. Probably ten minutes after they exchanged vows.”

 Elias swallowed, his heart soaring at the explosion oflove and adoration captured so simply and elegantly in the photograph.

 “I’m surprised Randall gave her a divorce.”

 “Apparently she threatened to go to the papers with proofof all his affairs. My understanding is that it was settled quite quickly.”

 He wanted to know more – so very much more – but sheushered him into the next gallery.

 Here the artist’s style had clearly matured; thecityscapes were bolder in outline, brighter in their use of color.

 “He immigrated from Scotland as a very young man. But NewYork City has always been his home. His art documents what it’s like to livehere.”

 It did – subways, and buses, and even photographs ofairplanes landing at Kennedy or LaGuardia. Interspersed with photographs ofClaire as she got older – still smiling, now in color – in what appeared to bethe same East Twelfth Street studio.

 Before he knew it, they were in the last gallery. Whichheld a single artwork – another painting of Claire, posed almost identically asshe had been in the scandalous portrait. Surrounded by ferns, and Chineseporcelain; wearing another electric blue dress. Her face had more wrinkles, andher hair was gray – but she was still so vibrantly alive.

 Mandy withdrew her arm, but he didn’t realize she hadcompletely left his side until an unfamiliar voice spoke beside him.

 “Personally I prefer this one to the older one.”

 “I’d have to agree,” Elias remarked, turning to his newneighbor. “In fact – ”

 He froze.

 “It’s you,” he croaked.

 Claire Fraser – hair still curly after all these years,wearing a bright green dress and gorgeous silver jewelry – smiled.

 “It’s me,” she agreed. “Jamie painted this one to commemoratemy eightieth birthday last October – and, of course, the fiftieth anniversarysince the first one.”

 “Oh my God,” Elias breathed. “I – you – um, you are verybeautiful.”

 Then Mandy appeared, and slung an arm around Claire’sside. “Are you flirting with my grandma?”

 “Grandma?”

 “Come on, Mandy – you’ll make the poor man suffer a heartattack right here. I thought you told me you liked him.”

 Stupidly Elias stuck out one hand. “I’m Elias Pound.”

 Claire laughed. “Yes, I know. Mandy’s told us all aboutyou. You study engineering together, right?”

 “Always had a head for numbers, that one.” An older manappeared beside Claire, and kissed her cheek. “Just like our daughter – her Mam.God knows where she got that from.”

 Claire nodded at Elias. “Jamie, this is Elias.”

 Elias gulped. “H-hi,” he stammered.

 “Ach, no need to be shy, lad! I dinna bite.” Jamie Fraserheartily clapped Elias’ shoulder. “So – do ye like the paintings?”

 “Be honest,” Mandy teased.

 Elias cleared his throat. “I – um – yes. I’m stillgetting to know New York, and it’s so interesting to see how your workdocuments how the city has changed.”

 Jamie looked over at his granddaughter, one still-redeyebrow raised. “Very astute observation. Good that he appreciates things thataren’t numbers.”

 Mandy groaned. “Be nice, Grand-da. We go to museums allthe time – we get in for free with our student IDs.”

 Elias cleared his throat. “Also, sir, your work is one ofthe most honest and pure representations of love that I’ve ever seen. I – I can’tquite describe it, but I can just feelit pouring out of the frame. It makes my heart race. And that’s something thathasn’t changed – am I right?”

 Jamie and Claire and Mandy – she had Jamie’s eyes, herealized – looked at him, eyes wide. Quietly Mandy stepped forward to take hishand, squeezing it. So proud.

 “Thank you,” Jamie whispered, drawing Claire to his side.“You understand. She’s everything.”

 “Yes,” Elias agreed, looking at Mandy. “She is.”