July 31, 2022 • 57 mins
In the aftermath of their girlfriend’s death, a poet named Robin struggles to accept what was left unsaid, and what was left behind.
Cast (in order of appearance):
Narrator: Daniel Foytik
Rosette Greenaway: Addison Peacock
Victoria: Amber Collins
Robin: GP Mckenzie
Author: M. Regan
Score: Nico Vettese of We Talk of Dreams
Sound Design: Daniel Foytik, of 9th Story Studios, LLC
Cover Art: Greg Shaffer
Art Director: Jeanette Andromeda of JeanetteCreations.com
A 9th Story Studios, LLC Production, All rights reserved.
Support us on Patreon for ad free episodes and extra content.
Get your copy of The Lift, 9 Stories of Transformation Volume One on Kindle, or in print. Visit victoriaslift.com/read to get your copy today.
Listen and Subscribe: iTunes | iHeart Radio | Spotify | Google Podcasts | TuneIn | Stitcher
THEMES:
"The Lift Arrives, (Opening Theme Music):
"Victoria's Music Box, (Victoria's Theme)"
The Lift Closing Theme Music
Composed and Recorded by Nico Vettese of We Talk of Dreams
www.wetalkofdreams.com
FX:
Sound FX: freesound.org, audioblocks.com
Producer / Editor: Meg Williams
Producer / Editor / Creator: Daniel Foytik
Executive Producers: Amber Collins, Nico Vettese
Visit The Lift: Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Victoria's Twitter
Victoria's Lift is created by 9th Story Studios LLC: www.9thstory.com
Victoria's Lift and all core characters, places, and situations are property of Daniel Foytik, 9th Story Studios, LLC and may not be used in any form without explicit written permission.
Audio program ©2022 – 9th Story Studios LLC. All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of 9th Story Studios LLC.
Cast (in order of appearance):
Narrator: Daniel Foytik
Rosette Greenaway: Addison Peacock
Victoria: Amber Collins
Robin: GP Mckenzie
Author: M. Regan
Score: Nico Vettese of We Talk of Dreams
Sound Design: Daniel Foytik, of 9th Story Studios, LLC
Cover Art: Greg Shaffer
Art Director: Jeanette Andromeda of JeanetteCreations.com
A 9th Story Studios, LLC Production, All rights reserved.
Support us on Patreon for ad free episodes and extra content.
Get your copy of The Lift, 9 Stories of Transformation Volume One on Kindle, or in print. Visit victoriaslift.com/read to get your copy today.
Listen and Subscribe: iTunes | iHeart Radio | Spotify | Google Podcasts | TuneIn | Stitcher
THEMES:
"The Lift Arrives, (Opening Theme Music):
"Victoria's Music Box, (Victoria's Theme)"
The Lift Closing Theme Music
Composed and Recorded by Nico Vettese of We Talk of Dreams
www.wetalkofdreams.com
FX:
Sound FX: freesound.org, audioblocks.com
Producer / Editor: Meg Williams
Producer / Editor / Creator: Daniel Foytik
Executive Producers: Amber Collins, Nico Vettese
Visit The Lift: Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Victoria's Twitter
Victoria's Lift is created by 9th Story Studios LLC: www.9thstory.com
Victoria's Lift and all core characters, places, and situations are property of Daniel Foytik, 9th Story Studios, LLC and may not be used in any form without explicit written permission.
Audio program ©2022 – 9th Story Studios LLC. All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of 9th Story Studios LLC.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:04):
Ninth Story Studios giving Story a voice. Welcome to the list, Get ready
to take the ride. Well,hello there, this is Daniel Floyzak and
(00:42):
this is Victoria's Lift Season five,episode number one. Today's episode was written
for us by the very talented mRegan. They have written audio fiction for
Shadows at the Door, The WickedLibrary, and our composer Nicos Project Connections.
They also recently released a novel,twenty one Grahams, which is absolutely
wonderful. Do get yourself a copy. So before we begin, a sincere
(01:07):
thank you to those of you supportingthe show on Patreon. You truly make
the show possible. It's because ofyour support that I can continue to pay
the very talented authors, voice actorsand composer. Simply, it's your support
that allows us to make sure thosewho contribute to the show don't work for
free. And a very special shoutout to one of our supporters in Peris,
(01:29):
France, Joan cha jovous verre biontu. If you're not yet supporting the
show, you can do that atpatreon dot com forward slash Victoria's Lift.
For as little as two dollars amonth, you can help make the show
you love possible and get fun rewards. A lot of hard work and money
goes into making Victoria's Lift, andI really do rely on this support to
help me pay the authors, voiceactors, composer and artists. In addition
(01:53):
to knowing you're a part of makingthe show possible, you also get fun
rewards like ad free episodes at higherbit rates, access to bonus story and
more. You can support us atpatreon dot com. Forward Slash Victoria's Left.
Today's story is performed by Me,Daniel Foytek Addison Peacock, GP McKenzie,
and of course Ambercollins as our girlVictoria. The episode also, of
(02:15):
course features a custom score by nikovitesOff. We talk of dreams. This
story is a poignant, beautiful anddark tale and it's a perfect way to
kick off the new season. Nowstep on board and let's go for a
ride as we present a tale aboutcoming to terms with deep loss. In
art therapy, I M Regan Victoria'sLeft, Season five, Episode one,
(03:28):
Art Therapy by M Regan. Thereis a basket on the front desk,
a little wicker one. It stansstrands woven into an assemblage of hollow stars,
Robin hadn't lingered over it when checkingin, Confused as they had been
by a building that looked nothing likeGoogle Maps had said it would, and
(03:51):
the fact that a child appeared tobe the only available member of its staff.
But the girl seemed to know whatshe was doing, and this place
did tout itself as being family run, so Robin hadn't asked questions. They
simply allowed themselves to be directed towardsone of the lobby's velveteen chairs. Now
(04:11):
that they are settled in, though, Robin finds themselves wishing they had borrowed
that basket. Sure they could askafter it, or even get up and
grab it themselves, but God onlyknew the sort of looks and questions that
doing so would earn them, whichwould in turn defeat the whole purpose of
collecting it. The reason they wantthat arrangement of purple carnation, snapdragons and
(04:34):
ferns is to avoid judgment, because, as it is working with the subject
that they've chosen, judgment is inevitable. Robin is going to get judged,
and they'll undoubtedly deserve it. Notthat the little girl has said or done
anything to suggest she might disapprove ofRobin's rendition of her. If anything,
(04:58):
she has been very supportive, orat least very still, which, when
it comes to modeling, is moreor less the same thing. But however
polite her parents had raised her tobe, that demureness would no doubt change
to derision when she saw the exceptionallyunflattering nature of Robin's work. So Robin,
(05:18):
tired and twitching, clutches their sketchbook closer to their chest, hiding
the unfinished portrait from view. Oldhabits as the expression says, It's not
what Rosette would have said, Robin. Half the reason you think you're terrible
in art is because you draw everythingbut t Rex songs. I promise I
(05:42):
won't look all right, But please, I'm begging you to put the sketch
pad on the table, give yourselfa chance. Here in awkward, erratic
motions, Robin drags a number twopencil up and down the paper they are
presently sullying. Lying by line byline, bits by bits by bits,
(06:04):
the pencil gives more and more andmore of itself away. And for what
This doodle doesn't mean anything now,and it won't mean anything when it's finished.
It's a waste of a drawing inevery sense of the word. Robin
can't even hear the quiet sacrifice beingmade by the graphite. Its loss is
(06:27):
lost beneath the tinkle of the child'smusic box. They shouldn't have let themselves
get coerced in the coming year.They should have lined this is all.
It's such a waste. It's notexcuse me, I can't get yet.
I'm afraid. But when we're finishedhere, I hoped to okay, you
(06:55):
know, I'm sorry. What didyou say? Your aim? Was?
I? Victoria? Right? Victoria? Look, I appreciate the company,
but you don't have to wait herewith me if if you're busy, or
I mean, you can if youwant. I guess, but I'm just
(07:16):
I don't know how long I'm goingto have to be here. And I'm
sure you yeah, there's probably betterthings you could be doing with your time.
And aren't you a poet? Robinisn't sure what startles them more,
the abruptness of this non sequitor orthe fact that Victoria is correct, they
are a poet. How does sheknow that? Though it's not like Robin's
(07:41):
reputation precedes them exactly has she beentold. It's possible Robin supposes Rosette's brother
had been the one who had setup and dragged Robin to this appointment.
Maybe Robin's poetry had come up aspart of the new patient information that Bastion
had supplied. I suppose that makessense. Still, Robin finds themselves unable
(08:07):
to do anything but stare at thechild in surprise. You've been published a
substantial number of times. Your workis quite good. I was especially fond
of your recent piece in the deadLands, the one about the ghost guiding
the little girl. What was thatcalled again, um Owl's Head nineteen eighties.
(08:31):
Yes, that one, But afterreading it, I rather thought you'd
be better with words, more intentional, with meaning. That's what's important to
you, isn't it words? Sayingthem? I mean? Yeah, But
writing is different. Okay, youcan you can take time to choose what
(08:56):
you want to say. I amfond of choices, and when you're writing,
you can always go back and deletesomething or edit it or add to
it, and you can't do thatwhen speaking. I'm not as good at
speaking. I don't really want totalk about myself. That's unfortunate given where
you are yes, But my sessionhasn't started yet, so please, I'm
(09:24):
trying to practice practice what drawing.I'm not sure what kind of art I'll
be asked to try during therapy,so I figured i'd well practice. I
just want to be good enough tobe told I can be done. I
don't believe that's how therapy works.I don't want to talk about that either,
Victoria kitchy. Is there anything youdo want to talk about? There
(09:48):
isn't really, But if Victoria isgoing to insist on conversation, then Robin
would rather be the one to steerit. We could talk about you,
or you could tell me about thatmusic box you've been playing with. Is
it an heirloom? It's very prettyand the music is nice, thank you.
(10:11):
I am fond of it, cheekyas it can be at times.
Giggling to herself, Victoria flicks theedge of the music box as if in
gentle rebuke. For a moment,the melody falters the box, trilling a
discordant protest. Not that it's anactual response to Victoria's teasing, of course,
(10:31):
It's nothing so anthropomorphic as all that. It's simply that the mechanisms within
it have been jarred obviously. Sure, well be careful with it anyway it
looks old. I'd hate to seeit break. Oh you'd not be alone
in that. Are you going toinclude it? What my music box?
(10:56):
Are you going to include it inyour drawing? Would you like me to
hold it a certain way? I'mhappy to pose it, however the artiste
sees fit. Oh no, it'sokay. I wasn't planning to. I'm
not really in There's a reason I'mpracticing. I'm more of a poet,
(11:18):
like you said, no real talentat drawing, even if they had given
themselves a chance, as Rosette wouldhave put it, Victorious music boxes far
beyond Robin's underwhelming artistic abilities. Sure, the box itself is simple, but
the looping arrangement of Celtic knots weldedonto its lid are intricate enough to hurt
(11:39):
the eyes. Robin tries not tolinger on them, or to follow the
girl's finger. She begins to idlytrace their ceaselessness. Beautiful, aren't they?
This one here on the top.It's called a darinaut. It's designed
after the Celts cranbetha or tree ofLife, which was itself, likely inspired
(12:03):
by the noises sacred Igdrasil. Thediaryonaut is a symbol for strength, wisdom,
power and endurance, designed to representthe hollowed oak and its roots.
Do you like symbolism, Robin?It's a powerful tool for artists of all
ILKs, as I understand it anduse the hide lots of secrets, coded
(12:26):
messages like puzzles. Do you enjoysolving puzzles? I guess? There is
a vase on the end table,shared equally by Victoria's chase, lounge and
Robin's armchair. It contains a plummybunch of white chrysantheums, which, as
ornamental arrangements go, is far simplerthan the basket on the front desk.
(12:50):
No point in trying to impress guestswho have made it this far into the
building, Robin supposes. But whateverthe chrysanthemums might lack in creativity, they
make up for and scent. Theysmell exceptionally fresh, almost unpleasantly fresh.
The cold, pungent earthiness of theirfragrance is enough to make Robin uncomfortably aware
(13:16):
of the place from which all flowerscome, What makes the loam from?
Whence they grow. I'm going torate you a list of what to plant
after. It'll be a secret untilthen, but you have to promise me
that you'll do it. Will youpromise Robin? Robin hadn't promised. Robin
(13:41):
doesn't remember what they had said,but they remember that they hadn't promised.
Robin stares at the chrysanthemums until theirvision blurs and the petals begin to look
a pale, sallow yellow. Youyou must do a lot of puzzles yourself.
(14:03):
Why did you think that? It'sjust you're pretty good at sitting still
as well? Oh, I've hadpractice seen and not heard. As the
saying goes, that's a fair summaryof modeling too, I get it,
of course, I get why.Like in figure classes, you can't be
moving around and throwing off the studentsor distracting them. Have you done any
(14:28):
modeling before besides right now? Imean me? Oh no, I have
been scouted in the past, andmy friend Anna once took a lovely photograph
of me. I believe it wasput on display in a gallery for a
time. But I'm hardly what anyonewould call a model. How about you?
(14:50):
Are we allowed to talk about youyet? You've got quite a bit
of experience yourself. I always thinkof birdies as creatures who enjoy mister flattering
around like You're rather content to staypitched launch you, Robin. The downward
stroke of Robin's pencil is abruptly endedby the spasm of their hand. I've
(15:13):
had more practice modeling than drawing,I guess, pursing their lips. Robin
considers the ugly leaden starburst that theyhave created, the silvery pock that now
mars what should have been porcelain's skin. It looks awful. Not that the
(15:33):
rest of Robin's drawing has been comingalong any better. Their lines are too
thick or too dark, maybe both. Something had gone very wrong anyway,
and Robin can't quite pinpoint the rootcause Beneath the symptoms. They can only
frown at this uncanny cartoon that defilestheir sketchpad on paper. Victoria's lopsided eyes
(15:58):
stare back her pigtails. A pairof gravity defying corkscrews prod uncomfortably at the
white abyss. The vintage violet dressshe wears is a patchwork of sharp angles.
If Robin had not spent the pastfew weeks making a concerted effort to
(16:18):
keep everything together. They would haveripped the page and the sketchbook, and
god knows what else to ribbons.Would you like to talk about the modeling
practice you've had, not really shading? Maybe shading will help. Robin applies
themselves to pooling shadows beneath Victoria's noseand chin, pressing so hard with their
(16:41):
pencil that the surface of those puddlesstarted to shine with reflected light. Excess
lead is wafted about by their franticscratching. Those moats become smudges beneath the
heel of their palm. Darkness spread, leaving stains exclusively where Robin doesn't want
(17:03):
them. Yeah, that sounds aboutright. Robin has said it before,
and they'll say it again. They'reshit at this. You are not shit
at this. You're dramatic, that'sall. Look see here, your proportions
are getting better, and there's alot of great energy to this party.
(17:26):
Where her hair hits her shoulder.It's a good effort, sweetheart. Robin
can almost hear Rosette say her voicesoft in that way it would get when
she was trying not to laugh ather poor frustrated partner. You know,
a poem and a sketch are bothbuilt from connective lines, but in the
(17:47):
case of the latter, those linesdon't need to be quite so distinct.
Maybe try again, stubbornly, bitterly, Robin does not try again. They
keep adding more lines, more shadows, more, more more, until the
(18:08):
whole damn page is less a portraitof Victoria and more a reproduction of that
writhing black pit that exists where Robin'sheart had once beat. Poised demurely on
the end of her seat, Victoriacocks her head, watching with amused interest
as Robin's scribbles go from guarded toharsh, too wildly erratic. What are
(18:34):
you doing moving? Isn't that thequestion I'm expressing myself? Is something?
The matter is something. The matteris something. The matter. Robin wants
to laugh. They can feel thesharp of the sound and the base of
(18:55):
their throat digging into soft, vulnerableplaces in a way that leeve them tasting
blood. Maybe opening their mouth andspinning out those broken noises would help,
But no, no, Robin suppressesthe urge. Laughing would be inappropriate.
Laughing would make Robin look crazy.Robin is already worried that they are going
(19:18):
crazy. Maybe it's because of thisantiquated space, but they find themselves imagining
the inside of their own soul likeit is one of those old fashioned phone
operator rooms, their heart and brainconnected by a switchboard of multicolored cables,
and they are desperately yanking at livequartz, taking them out of plugs and
(19:40):
sockets because they know that all thewires have recently been crossed, and they
just haven't had the time or theenergy to figure out how to fix them.
Theoretically, Robin supposes now would bethe time to fix them. Now
is when they ought to muster upwhat little energy they have and try to
(20:03):
sort everything else. That's the reasonpeople go to therapy, isn't it.
Robin presses their fingers flat to thepaper, smearing its Gordian tangle of lines
into a single stag. That's swirlingawfulness. It's fine, it doesn't have
to be. It's nothing. Imean, it's not nothing. It's I'm
(20:29):
sorry. Are you why I'm paindramatic? You're experiencing emotions. That is
a difference. I don't want totalk about it. And how has that
been working out for you? Forsomeone who puts so much stock in words,
Robin. You really are quite terribleat using them, aren't you.
(20:53):
I did say so you did.But self awareness doesn't do you any good
if you don't act upon that knowledge, meaning that there is a time and
place for speaking, and a timeand a place for silence. And I
rather think that using your words iswhat you ought to be practicing right now,
(21:14):
not drawings. Fine, we cantalk more. You mentioned being scattered.
How is that? Well, thejob never went anywhere except my own
base VID. But I suppose Imeet interesting people. This isn't about me,
though, Robin. Let's discuss whoyou meet while modeling A name was
(21:37):
rosette en away? I believe itis a strange sensation, Robin moles to
be aware of all their skin,the way it trembles and itches and aches,
and yet unable to feel anything throughit, nothing beneath it. All
that holds them together are tense threadsof static, the collapse or gravity of
(22:00):
the pit that has been growing withintheir chest since the day, since the
day that rosettes Robin. Just gohome, Okay, I'm busy. I
have to finish this before It's alreadyhard to hold the paper sheet up I
(22:23):
don't have much. There isn't muchtime. One. Have you heard that
old superstition, the one about camerasand how they track people's south lashes?
Flickering low Victoria's shifts to catch Robin'seyes, holding their gaze over the zenias
(22:45):
and the vase at the end ofthe table. The blossoms are a natural
kaleidoscope, comprised of reflections and versionsand complimentary copies, all shifting like shards
of loose glass. Well, thatwould be the poetic comparison, anyway,
the analogy that Robin might have writtenbefore everything, But now what each pedal
(23:10):
most reminds Robin of our brushstrokes?Hundreds of meticulous brushstrokes layered with infinite patients.
There are reds and yellows, Thereare whites and magentas. There are
mixes that, in their gradients,blend the bouquet into a cohesive whole,
almost literally. Robin would believe ifthe blending were literal, something accomplished with
(23:33):
tempera and time. There is anintensity to the flowers colors, a pureness
of hue that to this point theyhave only seen in pink pigments squeezed directly
from the tube. The thought,in turn, squeezes something in Robin's chest.
Victoria offers a sympathetic giggle. IRobin, you needn't worry about that.
(23:59):
It is only then that it occursto Robin that something doesn't seem right
about this, about any of this, really, but especially about how vibrant
those zinnias are, or the factthat there are zennias here at all.
The smile that spreads across Victoria's face, it's corners crawling like a vine of
(24:22):
great bindweed, her lips curled beneaththe damask roses of her cheeks, and
above those blooms, a little girl'seyes glow with the greenness of summer leaves.
My soul isn't stuck in some funnyold camerap Neither is yours, for
that matter, if Robin had beenpaying better attention might have occurred to them
(24:44):
that this was a very strange comfortto offer. As it is, they
are too busy trying to piece togethertheir jumbled thoughts and the puzzle that grows
before them. I know it's notphotographs, that's still people as the lives
away. It's paintings, is it. I I'm sorry, I just did
(25:10):
I miss something or someone? Didsomeone come by? I don't believe.
So why those changed the flowers?They're different now, I should hope.
So transformation is the resondetra of thisplace. What tell me more about how
(25:30):
painting is still a person's life.I don't think. No, no,
Look, I'm sure your mom ordad or whoever is a good therapist,
and that you've picked up a fewtips and tricks from them. But I
don't think I'm comfortable you've got itall well and silly. My parents aren't
(25:51):
therapists, nor am I you forthat matter? Right? Sure, okay,
then I'm sure whoever it is you'rerelated to in this building is a
good therapist. Personally, I wouldn'tcall my little brother a good anything.
You're a little No No, Imeant whoever on staff you're related to,
(26:14):
the person that let you play behindthe front desk, or unless wait,
are you another patient? Did allof my personal information get given to another
patient? I told you I'm nota patient. I'm Victoria and I am
here to help. Now. Isyour drawing just about Finnish Robin? I
(26:37):
think it's time we added it tothe gallery. You have a gallery,
yes, and no, the galleryis in my building. That much is
true, but it actually belongs toyou. How could it possibly belong to
me? You'll understand when you seeit. Come along. It's just a
lift ride away. The lift inquestion is an elegant snarl of wirework and
(27:07):
polished brass, waiting with doors wideopen on the far end of the lobby.
Even if Robin hadn't been instructed towait, they wouldn't have risked taking
the elevator. It is an antiquatedthing, much like the building that it
services, which is all well andgood when it comes to interior design,
but technology. Robin winces as theyare half guided, half pulled into the
(27:34):
empty car, the molders and theirgrimace grinding his metal moans beneath their feet.
The sound is disconcertingly similar to thatof someone in agony, and echoes
like a paintbrush falling from pain crippledhands. Can't we take the stairs please?
(27:57):
I'm afraid not stairs offered too muchautonomy. What do you mean by
that? I mean that if you'dbeen able to climb the stairs and face
what needed facing by your own power, you wouldn't have found yourself here in
the first place. How could youpossibly know on the day of Rosette's death,
(28:19):
how long did you stand at thebase of the hospital steps. If
Robin hadn't already been staring at thefloor, willing it to maintain a structural
integrity, then they would have believedthat had collapsed beneath them, dropping them
into the void. That's not fair. How long, Robin, You don't
(28:41):
understand? How long an hour?When I got to the hospital, she
was still alive. That's what theytold me after I I was so angry.
I couldn't make my body move.I couldn't take the first step.
(29:06):
I just stood there staring at them. That's why I never got to say
goodbye, exactly. And so I'mafraid the stairs won't take you to the
place you need to go. Fingernailsdigging into their atrocious sketch, Robin sniffles,
(29:26):
glowering at their acrylic spattered shoes.There were still scuff marks on the
toecaps left behind or the concrete ofthat first step. It wasn't my fault,
not really, not completely. Rosettewas the one who told me to
leave. She was the one whowanted to finish that stupid picture. It
(29:49):
was more important to her than spendingtime with me, even at the very
end. Yes, that was afunny choice in your part on my part.
Well, she gave you another option, didn't she. I try not
to judge more than is necessary,but I must say I struggle to understand
(30:11):
why you choose to honor her secondrequest rather than her first. I suppose
a proper therapist might cite the veryhuman instinct to let go of something before
it can hurt you. That doesthat really apply here? It seems to
me that you're much more deeply hurtnow than you would have been otherwise.
Robin wants to scream at her,would scream at her were they able,
(30:36):
But victorious words had struck them likea punch to the guts, rendering Robin
breathless, speechless, and stunned.All that moves or Robin's molten glass tears,
threatening blisters as they slide down theircheeks. One lends atop the drawing,
further smearing Robin's horrendous rendition of Victoria. The other splatter on the elevator's
(31:00):
floor tiles, oozing through the cracksand the grouts and feeding what grows there?
Wait, what grows there? Turningtheir head, Robin stares into the
dirt, dark shadows that can sealthe lift's back corner. And yes,
there, just there, there's aplant, a flower, a creeping,
(31:29):
lignious stalk, poking through the gratewhere the wall and flooring meat. It
is small, yet and as immaculateas any springtime bud. But before Robin's
bleary eyes, a cluster of starwhite flowers bloom upon that straining branch,
A series of strange constellations connected bylines drawn down silken petals. Robin,
(31:56):
baffled, blinks at the Asphodel.The Asphodel resolute waves hello, or it
seems to anyway. It doesn't really, no, of course not. It's
it's simply stuck in the lifts,hidden mechanics made to move as the gears
do. Why is it there,though? How? Where is it rooted
(32:22):
in the shaft's foundation If a dandelioncan push through cement, Robin reasons it's
technically feasible. But christ is ittaller? Now? Just a moment ago,
it barely reached Robin's ankle. Nowit's at their shin their knee,
and oh, there's another one anda third the tallest of its spikes,
(32:47):
reaching through the ornate bars that notbeneath the operating panel. Idea ike rather
thought we had more time. Iain't vote for chattering, I suppose six
blow. The announcement is punctuated bya belle's cheery toll and the unpleasant elastic
(33:08):
straining of weeds struggling to remain rooted. Their effort is valiant, no match
for the lift. Crack snap,and the Asphodel's petals become a shower at
pale meteors. Mystifying Robin can donothing but continue to stare. The ruined
stems remain threaded through the elevator's decorativegaps, clinging to the car's bottom with
(33:32):
the tenacity of severed hands. Beneaththe lift's rumbles, Robin can hear those
desiccated offshoots jutter and jabber and jostlearound uselessly. It is useless, isn't
it? What regret? Unless itinspires a matter of change, It's useless.
(33:52):
What are you talking about? Didyou just read my mind? Here
we are at the funeral. Robinhad overheard one of Rosette's more new agy
ants make allusions to the veil,and how tragic it was that her niece
was now beyond it. The manwith whom she had been talking nodded his
(34:16):
somber agreement, but Robin had wantedto scream at the wrongness of the words.
The stupidity of the idiom. Veilis gossamer, thin, elegant,
and easy to remove. But death. Death is an interminable pit of cold.
(34:36):
Soil presses, and it processes,and it does not allow escape.
There is no other side to it. It cannot be shaken off, or
dug from, or opened up.Yet as the doors of Victoria's lift draw
apart, they move with such ineffablesmoothness Robin finds themselves reminded of a veil
(35:00):
beyond it. Beyond it is Rosette'sstudio apartment. This isn't possible. It
(35:21):
can't be possible. It shouldn't bepossible. The very idea is insane.
But there is no mistaking the roomthat waits beyond the elevator's threshold, as
small and as sunlit as it hadalways been, it is exactly as Robin
knows it should be. Not onepen is out of place. There in
(35:44):
the corner is the wobbly old stoolthat Robin used to model on it's uneven
leg missing flakes of blue paint.There on the kitchenette counter is the porcelain
bowl that Rosette used for water andpainting after the incident with the team mug.
And there on the window seat isthe unfurled, crocheted blanket, A
(36:05):
signal developed to let the other knowthat they needed to sit down and talk.
So I got a call from thedoctor today about my test results,
and the NUDS wasn't good, Robin. A surge of emotion rushes through Robin,
(36:29):
too virulent and powerful to be understood. All they can do is hold
their breath and endure it. Theytry not to be swept away. Come
back, please, Robin. You'vebeen to enough exhibits to realize that they
are meant to be viewed in acertain order. Robin startles, finding themselves
in the middle of the room beforethey even realized they'd moved. Victoria lingers
(36:52):
behind them, staring pointedly at anearby wall. Robin doesn't question her attention
at first, having themselves spent countlesshours admiring the rainbows painted across it by
Rosette. Suncatchers. But then Victoriabegins to read aloud, and Robin's own
focus shifts from the overgrown macromay plantanchors to an unfamiliar plaque Welcome to the
(37:17):
Egglan Team Gallery. A tangle ofthe flowers in question cascade over the signs
edges, hanging from its ornate metalworkby the hooks of its thorns. The
sunburst yellow center of the blossoms painttheir own rainbows, and Robin gas at
the prismatic petals, vibrantly pink andsmelling of apples. This no, this
(37:42):
doesn't make sense. That isn't it, Given your artistic history and the theme
of the collection, I argue thatit's exceptionally well suited. Not the name.
I mean this, all of this. This isn't an art gallery,
an apartment. It's Rosette's apartment.Except except it can't be that either.
(38:06):
We sold Rosette's apartment months ago.This stuff too, This can't be here.
We can't be here, and wearen't. We aren't here, at
least not the here to which youare referring. Like I said, we're
in your gallery in my building.There's knowing that makes you feel better or
(38:28):
worse. I feel like I'm losingmy mind. Believe me, there are
worse things to lose. Why areyou doing this? The clues in the
name. Honestly, Robin, symbolismis as prevalent in poetry as it is
in physical art. Start thinking likean artist, a poet. A puzzle's
(38:51):
over, now, come along,take me on the ground tour. Oh,
let's start over here, shall we. With one small hand, Victoria
gestures to a canvas hung on theother side of the room. Robin doesn't
remember there being a painting above thewobbly old stool, but much like the
bouquet in the lobby, it's undeniablythere. Now. Robin isn't even surprised
(39:15):
anymore, nor do they protest whenVictoria gently guides them closer. Their footfalls
muffled by Warren carpet and an elegiacmelody hidden somewhere amongst Rosette's many trinkets.
The music box trips over the notesof a chord. Tell me about this
(39:35):
painting, please. It's a closeupof petunias done in watercolors. And true
art is never just what one seeson the surface. There is always other
messages. Maybe they are meant forone person, or all people, or
just the artists themselves, but theyare always there. So dig deeper day
(40:00):
that Peginia's mean Robert, they meanresentment, they mean anger. I've a
what life. Everything my parents hadbasically washed their hands of me. I
was stuck sharing a house with sixof the world's shittiest roommates, and on
top of that, none of mypoetry was selling. I guess I wasn't
(40:20):
suffering quite enough, you know,to be a real artist. So I'd
come over to Rosette's place and I'dsit on this stool and she'd let me
bitch about it. I guess Iwas animated when I ranted, because one
day she asked if she could sketchme while listening. I figured it was
at least I could do. Ididn't want to waste her time. And
eventually, I don't know, Ididn't have as much to complain about,
(40:47):
and me modeling for Rosette just becamea thing. And that made you angry
too. You've resented that. No, No, many flowers symbolize more than
one thing. Petunias can refer toanger and resentment, but also to hope.
(41:07):
They used to be gifted to peopleyou wanted to spend time with because
you found their presence soothing intriguing.And what about that piece. Following Victoria's
gaze to the kitchen att counter,Robin notices a fresco of wax and pink
camellias flourishing behind the porcelain bowl.The breath that escapes them is tinged more
(41:30):
with amusement than alarm, and againthey do not resist Victoria's poll when she
drags them closer, trying to geta better look at the installation. Camelias
in general represent love, gratitude,and devotion, but pink ones are often
a symbol of longing. I've beencasually modeling for Rosette for about a year
(41:52):
when she asked if I might becomfortable hosing well nake, Oh dear,
it was a perfectly professional request,it really was. Drawing nude bodies is
so common a practice in the artworld. Rose I didn't even bat an
(42:14):
eyelash asking, and I didn't mind. I'd done it before, even for
that figures class I'd worked for theone we'd met in, so I didn't
think anything of it, and Idon't think she really did either. But
then, well, when my clothesactually came off, she got so blustered.
(42:36):
Honestly, it was adorable, wellat least until she mixed up her
tea in a cup of old paintwater. Then it was hilarious. And
the drawing she didn't finish it.We got distracted by other things. After
(42:58):
that we were together. But howlong? Not long enough? What a
pity is that a theme of thispicture? Robin does not offer an answer
because they are directed to the windowseat, where propped in the folds of
the rumpled crochet blanket is a photoframed sketch of purple hyacinth sprouting in a
(43:21):
garden. Well is that the theme? Yes, four years isn't nothing.
But we could have had more.We should have had more, even just
a little more. But the cancerspread so damn fast, and Rosette was
adamant that she complete one last painting. Finishing It was all that mattered to
(43:45):
her. It was more important thanspending time with her friends, or her
family or o Ye, that fuckingpicture consumed the rest of Rosette's life.
She could have spent it on somuch else, on anything else, Or
(44:06):
we could have gone to the botanicalgarden one last time. We could have
made magnetic poetry. We could haveplayed god damn bananagrams with her brother.
I wouldn't have cared, just solong as we could have spent that time
together. But no, she lockedme out, and five months later she
(44:27):
was dead, and we'll never getthat time back. Have you ever seen
Rosette Greenaway's final painting? I don'twant to see it. She willed it
to you. I said, Idon't want to see it. And Rosette
wanted you to plant flowers in hermemory, but you refused. What else
was she meant to do? Robinrecoils the accusation, landing with the physicality
(44:51):
of a slap. Blood rises intheir cheeks, their ears ring, and
beneath the tinny residence of their ownsting hurt. Robin hears again the memory
of Rosette's voice, back when shewould still allow Robin to visit. I'm
going to write you a list ofwhat to plan. There'll be a secret
(45:13):
until then, but you have topromise me that you'll do it. Will
you promise, Robin? Robin hadn'tpromised. Robin doesn't remember what they'd said,
but that doesn't matter anymore. Theydon't need to remember, because they
can hear it and their own wordsand their own voice. The reply drifts
(45:36):
from the direction of the kitchen table, threaded like lyrics through the melody of
the music box. I no,I can't, Rosette. I'm sorry,
I just I couldn't handle watching anythingelse die, not after this. There
is no point to the hand thatRobin claps over their mouth. It does
(45:58):
nothing change, just nothing. Theirrejection still echoes, and the music box
still plays louder with every step Robintakes towards the table. Robin almost doesn't
recognize that table. When Rosette wasalive, it was always blotted with pastels
and charcoal, laden with bottles andbrushes and t shirts. She hadn't meant
(46:20):
to turn into paint rags, butone accident led to another, and Rosette
never said no to more paint rags. That was then, though Now it's
clean. All the stains have beenscrubbed off, and there are only two
things left atop it, victorious musicbox and a gilt framed canvas on a
(46:42):
miniature easel draped with a piece ofcloth. The fabric is gossamer, thin,
elegant and easy to remove another veil. It flutters, revealing nothing.
When Victoria moves to stand beside it, beside the picture, Robin needs to
(47:06):
brace themselves against the table to remainupright. Your whole body weak is wet
paper, This is heart is long, and time is fleeting. Longfellow wrote
that Rosette wanted to leave you withthese living reminders once that would grow and
flourish after she was gone. Butyou were too afraid of that which is
(47:30):
inevitable. You forgot that an integralpart of beauty is its transience. You
wanted something that would last, andRosette's sought to give that to you.
That wasn't what I'd meant. Thatwasn't what I wanted. This isn't what
I wanted. I'm afraid that isirrelevant. What you wanted, what you
(47:53):
meant, It means nothing now thatmoment has passed. What that matters is
life in this moment, and whetheryou want it to or not, Robin,
what you have in this moment isa choice to make, and what
you need is to make it achoice. Rosette spent her last days completing
(48:16):
this for you. That was herchoice, but accepting that decision, respecting
her wishes, acknowledging what she wantedto tell you, and coming to terms
with your loss. That is yourchoice. Rosette's painting looms on its makeshift
plength, the spectral monument to whatF's and what could have been, to
(48:39):
so much and to nothing at all. The tears are starting to well again,
white hot and pedaled as they spilldown Robin's face. They smell like
that elevator. They smell like Asphodel. It's not fair. I've never even
(49:02):
cut to say goodbye. No youdidn't, And whatever happens here, regardless
of what you decide, that won'tchange. But there is more than one
way to bid a loved one farewell. Kisses, hugs, small tokens of
remembrance, ultive candles and incense sticksto offer light in the dark, memorial
(49:24):
photos and scrap books, smooth stonesleft on a cleaned grave. As I
said, there is a time anda place for speaking, and a time
and a place for silence. Itisn't always about the words you use,
Robin. Often it is about thewords you don't. As a poet,
(49:45):
you surely must know that the shroudripples and the answering quiet stirred by Robin's
nid. Beneath those gentle black waves, Robin glimpses the promise of green,
verdant and vibrant, vivid and undying. They ripped the veil away. In
(50:12):
the golden glow of afternoon, Rosette'scanvas bursts into bloom, like a living
thing, a phantasmagoric garden of paintedpoetry, where acrylics bleed into emotions,
and emotions meld back into acrylics,as a wild and wonderful mess, woven
into patterns that nature would struggle toallow, but by Rosette's hand, the
(50:37):
arrangement feels organic, feels real.Before Robin's eyes, colors dripped down the
ruffled edges of gathered carnations, makingthe tips of their ivory petals blush.
The magenta azelius beside them act asaccent translucent and dew dropped and redolent of
(50:59):
stained glass. White clover fills thegaps between the pale purple flocks, while
around a twirling braid of morning glories, cling pendant bundles of arbutus, there
are orchids and tulips, asters andforget me nots, and they're in the
center, caught an a delicate breeze, a waving patch of sweet peas.
(51:22):
Robin can almost hear the blossoms whisperingagainst each other. Soft is one hand
releasing another. It is the soundof letting go. It is the sound
of a goodbye stood patiently beside Robin. Victoria lays a palm atop her music
(51:43):
box, ending its song. You'revery lucky, you know, am I.
It's true that many of us arenever afforded the chance to say goodbye
to as we care about. ButI think perhaps it's rare still to be
(52:05):
a chosen recipient of such a goodbye, especially one is eloquent and beautiful as
this. So, yes, youare very lucky. Now you will never
forget that love doesn't die. Robincan think of nothing to say to this,
nothing that feels adequate anyway, Butthat is okay. Sometimes it is
(52:28):
about the words one uses, butsometimes it is about the words they don't.
Victoria, Yes, this painting waswilled to me, right, you
said that? So can I haveit? Can I keep it? Goodness?
(52:51):
Have you forgotten where we are?This is a gallery, Robin.
You can't steal out from a gallery. But it's my gallery. This build
is yours, but the gallery ismine. That's what you said. Ah,
so I did well. Then Isuppose it was for the taking.
Though this section of the exhibit willlook awfully silly without something on display.
(53:14):
I don't suppose you have a pieceof art with which we might replace this
one. It is only after thethird of Victoria's increasingly pointed looks at Robin's
fist that they remember there is somethingclutched within it, something they've held onto
this whole time, the sketch,or the remnants of the sketch. Anyway,
(53:37):
it looks less like Victoria than itever had before. Honestly, it
looks less like a sketch than itever had before. Crumpled and sweat blurred,
it more closely resembles a bald upsheet of monochrome paper than it does
a portrait remains. But when itopens up like a flower in the palm
of Robin's hand, it almost makessense. In spite of themselves, in
(54:02):
spite of everything. Robin has tolaugh. You drive a hard bargain,
Victoria. I like it. It'sa move. Smiling sobbing, Robin lifts
Rosette's painting from the little Wooden Easelreplaces it with their own masterpiece. It's
(54:28):
yours. Thank you for listening totoday's episode of Victoria's Left. We're really
(54:55):
happy that you joined us for thefirst episode of the new season, and
we have a great season in storefor you, as well as the second
half of To Those Who Thrive inthe Dark, our mini series by Christopher
Long. Today's author was m Reganwith their story Art Therapy. Today's story
featured me Daniel Foytech as the narrator, Addison Peacock as Rosette, g P.
(55:17):
McKinsey as Robin, and Ambercollins asVictoria. Our season five producers are
Daniel Foytech and Meg Williams. Ourresident composer and music director is Nico Vedes
of We Talk Of Dreams. Ourart director is Jeanette Andromeda. Artwork for
today's episode was created by Greg Schaefer, our webmaster and graphic designer. Our
(55:37):
editors are Meg Williams and Daniel Foytech. To find out more about today's contributors
and our team, please visit Victoria'sliftdot com and check out their biopages.
If you'd like to help us keepbringing you Victoria's Adventures. Please consider supporting
us on Patreon at patreon dot comforward slash Victoria's Lift. You can,
of course follow us on social mediaon Instagram and Twitter at Victoria's Left.
(56:01):
Victoria's Left is created by Ninth StoryStudios LLLC. All rights reserved of what
Ninth Story Studios giving Story a voice. Welcome to the list, Get ready
to take the ride. Well,hello there, this is Daniel Floyzak and
(00:42):
this is Victoria's Lift Season five,episode number one. Today's episode was written
for us by the very talented mRegan. They have written audio fiction for
Shadows at the Door, The WickedLibrary, and our composer Nicos Project Connections.
They also recently released a novel,twenty one Grahams, which is absolutely
wonderful. Do get yourself a copy. So before we begin, a sincere
(01:07):
thank you to those of you supportingthe show on Patreon. You truly make
the show possible. It's because ofyour support that I can continue to pay
the very talented authors, voice actorsand composer. Simply, it's your support
that allows us to make sure thosewho contribute to the show don't work for
free. And a very special shoutout to one of our supporters in Peris,
(01:29):
France, Joan cha jovous verre biontu. If you're not yet supporting the
show, you can do that atpatreon dot com forward slash Victoria's Lift.
For as little as two dollars amonth, you can help make the show
you love possible and get fun rewards. A lot of hard work and money
goes into making Victoria's Lift, andI really do rely on this support to
help me pay the authors, voiceactors, composer and artists. In addition
(01:53):
to knowing you're a part of makingthe show possible, you also get fun
rewards like ad free episodes at higherbit rates, access to bonus story and
more. You can support us atpatreon dot com. Forward Slash Victoria's Left.
Today's story is performed by Me,Daniel Foytek Addison Peacock, GP McKenzie,
and of course Ambercollins as our girlVictoria. The episode also, of
(02:15):
course features a custom score by nikovitesOff. We talk of dreams. This
story is a poignant, beautiful anddark tale and it's a perfect way to
kick off the new season. Nowstep on board and let's go for a
ride as we present a tale aboutcoming to terms with deep loss. In
art therapy, I M Regan Victoria'sLeft, Season five, Episode one,
(03:28):
Art Therapy by M Regan. Thereis a basket on the front desk,
a little wicker one. It stansstrands woven into an assemblage of hollow stars,
Robin hadn't lingered over it when checkingin, Confused as they had been
by a building that looked nothing likeGoogle Maps had said it would, and
(03:51):
the fact that a child appeared tobe the only available member of its staff.
But the girl seemed to know whatshe was doing, and this place
did tout itself as being family run, so Robin hadn't asked questions. They
simply allowed themselves to be directed towardsone of the lobby's velveteen chairs. Now
(04:11):
that they are settled in, though, Robin finds themselves wishing they had borrowed
that basket. Sure they could askafter it, or even get up and
grab it themselves, but God onlyknew the sort of looks and questions that
doing so would earn them, whichwould in turn defeat the whole purpose of
collecting it. The reason they wantthat arrangement of purple carnation, snapdragons and
(04:34):
ferns is to avoid judgment, because, as it is working with the subject
that they've chosen, judgment is inevitable. Robin is going to get judged,
and they'll undoubtedly deserve it. Notthat the little girl has said or done
anything to suggest she might disapprove ofRobin's rendition of her. If anything,
(04:58):
she has been very supportive, orat least very still, which, when
it comes to modeling, is moreor less the same thing. But however
polite her parents had raised her tobe, that demureness would no doubt change
to derision when she saw the exceptionallyunflattering nature of Robin's work. So Robin,
(05:18):
tired and twitching, clutches their sketchbook closer to their chest, hiding
the unfinished portrait from view. Oldhabits as the expression says, It's not
what Rosette would have said, Robin. Half the reason you think you're terrible
in art is because you draw everythingbut t Rex songs. I promise I
(05:42):
won't look all right, But please, I'm begging you to put the sketch
pad on the table, give yourselfa chance. Here in awkward, erratic
motions, Robin drags a number twopencil up and down the paper they are
presently sullying. Lying by line byline, bits by bits by bits,
(06:04):
the pencil gives more and more andmore of itself away. And for what
This doodle doesn't mean anything now,and it won't mean anything when it's finished.
It's a waste of a drawing inevery sense of the word. Robin
can't even hear the quiet sacrifice beingmade by the graphite. Its loss is
(06:27):
lost beneath the tinkle of the child'smusic box. They shouldn't have let themselves
get coerced in the coming year.They should have lined this is all.
It's such a waste. It's notexcuse me, I can't get yet.
I'm afraid. But when we're finishedhere, I hoped to okay, you
(06:55):
know, I'm sorry. What didyou say? Your aim? Was?
I? Victoria? Right? Victoria? Look, I appreciate the company,
but you don't have to wait herewith me if if you're busy, or
I mean, you can if youwant. I guess, but I'm just
(07:16):
I don't know how long I'm goingto have to be here. And I'm
sure you yeah, there's probably betterthings you could be doing with your time.
And aren't you a poet? Robinisn't sure what startles them more,
the abruptness of this non sequitor orthe fact that Victoria is correct, they
are a poet. How does sheknow that? Though it's not like Robin's
(07:41):
reputation precedes them exactly has she beentold. It's possible Robin supposes Rosette's brother
had been the one who had setup and dragged Robin to this appointment.
Maybe Robin's poetry had come up aspart of the new patient information that Bastion
had supplied. I suppose that makessense. Still, Robin finds themselves unable
(08:07):
to do anything but stare at thechild in surprise. You've been published a
substantial number of times. Your workis quite good. I was especially fond
of your recent piece in the deadLands, the one about the ghost guiding
the little girl. What was thatcalled again, um Owl's Head nineteen eighties.
(08:31):
Yes, that one, But afterreading it, I rather thought you'd
be better with words, more intentional, with meaning. That's what's important to
you, isn't it words? Sayingthem? I mean? Yeah, But
writing is different. Okay, youcan you can take time to choose what
(08:56):
you want to say. I amfond of choices, and when you're writing,
you can always go back and deletesomething or edit it or add to
it, and you can't do thatwhen speaking. I'm not as good at
speaking. I don't really want totalk about myself. That's unfortunate given where
you are yes, But my sessionhasn't started yet, so please, I'm
(09:24):
trying to practice practice what drawing.I'm not sure what kind of art I'll
be asked to try during therapy,so I figured i'd well practice. I
just want to be good enough tobe told I can be done. I
don't believe that's how therapy works.I don't want to talk about that either,
Victoria kitchy. Is there anything youdo want to talk about? There
(09:48):
isn't really, But if Victoria isgoing to insist on conversation, then Robin
would rather be the one to steerit. We could talk about you,
or you could tell me about thatmusic box you've been playing with. Is
it an heirloom? It's very prettyand the music is nice, thank you.
(10:11):
I am fond of it, cheekyas it can be at times.
Giggling to herself, Victoria flicks theedge of the music box as if in
gentle rebuke. For a moment,the melody falters the box, trilling a
discordant protest. Not that it's anactual response to Victoria's teasing, of course,
(10:31):
It's nothing so anthropomorphic as all that. It's simply that the mechanisms within
it have been jarred obviously. Sure, well be careful with it anyway it
looks old. I'd hate to seeit break. Oh you'd not be alone
in that. Are you going toinclude it? What my music box?
(10:56):
Are you going to include it inyour drawing? Would you like me to
hold it a certain way? I'mhappy to pose it, however the artiste
sees fit. Oh no, it'sokay. I wasn't planning to. I'm
not really in There's a reason I'mpracticing. I'm more of a poet,
(11:18):
like you said, no real talentat drawing, even if they had given
themselves a chance, as Rosette wouldhave put it, Victorious music boxes far
beyond Robin's underwhelming artistic abilities. Sure, the box itself is simple, but
the looping arrangement of Celtic knots weldedonto its lid are intricate enough to hurt
(11:39):
the eyes. Robin tries not tolinger on them, or to follow the
girl's finger. She begins to idlytrace their ceaselessness. Beautiful, aren't they?
This one here on the top.It's called a darinaut. It's designed
after the Celts cranbetha or tree ofLife, which was itself, likely inspired
(12:03):
by the noises sacred Igdrasil. Thediaryonaut is a symbol for strength, wisdom,
power and endurance, designed to representthe hollowed oak and its roots.
Do you like symbolism, Robin?It's a powerful tool for artists of all
ILKs, as I understand it anduse the hide lots of secrets, coded
(12:26):
messages like puzzles. Do you enjoysolving puzzles? I guess? There is
a vase on the end table,shared equally by Victoria's chase, lounge and
Robin's armchair. It contains a plummybunch of white chrysantheums, which, as
ornamental arrangements go, is far simplerthan the basket on the front desk.
(12:50):
No point in trying to impress guestswho have made it this far into the
building, Robin supposes. But whateverthe chrysanthemums might lack in creativity, they
make up for and scent. Theysmell exceptionally fresh, almost unpleasantly fresh.
The cold, pungent earthiness of theirfragrance is enough to make Robin uncomfortably aware
(13:16):
of the place from which all flowerscome, What makes the loam from?
Whence they grow. I'm going torate you a list of what to plant
after. It'll be a secret untilthen, but you have to promise me
that you'll do it. Will youpromise Robin? Robin hadn't promised. Robin
(13:41):
doesn't remember what they had said,but they remember that they hadn't promised.
Robin stares at the chrysanthemums until theirvision blurs and the petals begin to look
a pale, sallow yellow. Youyou must do a lot of puzzles yourself.
(14:03):
Why did you think that? It'sjust you're pretty good at sitting still
as well? Oh, I've hadpractice seen and not heard. As the
saying goes, that's a fair summaryof modeling too, I get it,
of course, I get why.Like in figure classes, you can't be
moving around and throwing off the studentsor distracting them. Have you done any
(14:28):
modeling before besides right now? Imean me? Oh no, I have
been scouted in the past, andmy friend Anna once took a lovely photograph
of me. I believe it wasput on display in a gallery for a
time. But I'm hardly what anyonewould call a model. How about you?
(14:50):
Are we allowed to talk about youyet? You've got quite a bit
of experience yourself. I always thinkof birdies as creatures who enjoy mister flattering
around like You're rather content to staypitched launch you, Robin. The downward
stroke of Robin's pencil is abruptly endedby the spasm of their hand. I've
(15:13):
had more practice modeling than drawing,I guess, pursing their lips. Robin
considers the ugly leaden starburst that theyhave created, the silvery pock that now
mars what should have been porcelain's skin. It looks awful. Not that the
(15:33):
rest of Robin's drawing has been comingalong any better. Their lines are too
thick or too dark, maybe both. Something had gone very wrong anyway,
and Robin can't quite pinpoint the rootcause Beneath the symptoms. They can only
frown at this uncanny cartoon that defilestheir sketchpad on paper. Victoria's lopsided eyes
(15:58):
stare back her pigtails. A pairof gravity defying corkscrews prod uncomfortably at the
white abyss. The vintage violet dressshe wears is a patchwork of sharp angles.
If Robin had not spent the pastfew weeks making a concerted effort to
(16:18):
keep everything together. They would haveripped the page and the sketchbook, and
god knows what else to ribbons.Would you like to talk about the modeling
practice you've had, not really shading? Maybe shading will help. Robin applies
themselves to pooling shadows beneath Victoria's noseand chin, pressing so hard with their
(16:41):
pencil that the surface of those puddlesstarted to shine with reflected light. Excess
lead is wafted about by their franticscratching. Those moats become smudges beneath the
heel of their palm. Darkness spread, leaving stains exclusively where Robin doesn't want
(17:03):
them. Yeah, that sounds aboutright. Robin has said it before,
and they'll say it again. They'reshit at this. You are not shit
at this. You're dramatic, that'sall. Look see here, your proportions
are getting better, and there's alot of great energy to this party.
(17:26):
Where her hair hits her shoulder.It's a good effort, sweetheart. Robin
can almost hear Rosette say her voicesoft in that way it would get when
she was trying not to laugh ather poor frustrated partner. You know,
a poem and a sketch are bothbuilt from connective lines, but in the
(17:47):
case of the latter, those linesdon't need to be quite so distinct.
Maybe try again, stubbornly, bitterly, Robin does not try again. They
keep adding more lines, more shadows, more, more more, until the
(18:08):
whole damn page is less a portraitof Victoria and more a reproduction of that
writhing black pit that exists where Robin'sheart had once beat. Poised demurely on
the end of her seat, Victoriacocks her head, watching with amused interest
as Robin's scribbles go from guarded toharsh, too wildly erratic. What are
(18:34):
you doing moving? Isn't that thequestion I'm expressing myself? Is something?
The matter is something. The matteris something. The matter. Robin wants
to laugh. They can feel thesharp of the sound and the base of
(18:55):
their throat digging into soft, vulnerableplaces in a way that leeve them tasting
blood. Maybe opening their mouth andspinning out those broken noises would help,
But no, no, Robin suppressesthe urge. Laughing would be inappropriate.
Laughing would make Robin look crazy.Robin is already worried that they are going
(19:18):
crazy. Maybe it's because of thisantiquated space, but they find themselves imagining
the inside of their own soul likeit is one of those old fashioned phone
operator rooms, their heart and brainconnected by a switchboard of multicolored cables,
and they are desperately yanking at livequartz, taking them out of plugs and
(19:40):
sockets because they know that all thewires have recently been crossed, and they
just haven't had the time or theenergy to figure out how to fix them.
Theoretically, Robin supposes now would bethe time to fix them. Now
is when they ought to muster upwhat little energy they have and try to
(20:03):
sort everything else. That's the reasonpeople go to therapy, isn't it.
Robin presses their fingers flat to thepaper, smearing its Gordian tangle of lines
into a single stag. That's swirlingawfulness. It's fine, it doesn't have
to be. It's nothing. Imean, it's not nothing. It's I'm
(20:29):
sorry. Are you why I'm paindramatic? You're experiencing emotions. That is
a difference. I don't want totalk about it. And how has that
been working out for you? Forsomeone who puts so much stock in words,
Robin. You really are quite terribleat using them, aren't you.
(20:53):
I did say so you did.But self awareness doesn't do you any good
if you don't act upon that knowledge, meaning that there is a time and
place for speaking, and a timeand a place for silence. And I
rather think that using your words iswhat you ought to be practicing right now,
(21:14):
not drawings. Fine, we cantalk more. You mentioned being scattered.
How is that? Well, thejob never went anywhere except my own
base VID. But I suppose Imeet interesting people. This isn't about me,
though, Robin. Let's discuss whoyou meet while modeling A name was
(21:37):
rosette en away? I believe itis a strange sensation, Robin moles to
be aware of all their skin,the way it trembles and itches and aches,
and yet unable to feel anything throughit, nothing beneath it. All
that holds them together are tense threadsof static, the collapse or gravity of
(22:00):
the pit that has been growing withintheir chest since the day, since the
day that rosettes Robin. Just gohome, Okay, I'm busy. I
have to finish this before It's alreadyhard to hold the paper sheet up I
(22:23):
don't have much. There isn't muchtime. One. Have you heard that
old superstition, the one about camerasand how they track people's south lashes?
Flickering low Victoria's shifts to catch Robin'seyes, holding their gaze over the zenias
(22:45):
and the vase at the end ofthe table. The blossoms are a natural
kaleidoscope, comprised of reflections and versionsand complimentary copies, all shifting like shards
of loose glass. Well, thatwould be the poetic comparison, anyway,
the analogy that Robin might have writtenbefore everything, But now what each pedal
(23:10):
most reminds Robin of our brushstrokes?Hundreds of meticulous brushstrokes layered with infinite patients.
There are reds and yellows, Thereare whites and magentas. There are
mixes that, in their gradients,blend the bouquet into a cohesive whole,
almost literally. Robin would believe ifthe blending were literal, something accomplished with
(23:33):
tempera and time. There is anintensity to the flowers colors, a pureness
of hue that to this point theyhave only seen in pink pigments squeezed directly
from the tube. The thought,in turn, squeezes something in Robin's chest.
Victoria offers a sympathetic giggle. IRobin, you needn't worry about that.
(23:59):
It is only then that it occursto Robin that something doesn't seem right
about this, about any of this, really, but especially about how vibrant
those zinnias are, or the factthat there are zennias here at all.
The smile that spreads across Victoria's face, it's corners crawling like a vine of
(24:22):
great bindweed, her lips curled beneaththe damask roses of her cheeks, and
above those blooms, a little girl'seyes glow with the greenness of summer leaves.
My soul isn't stuck in some funnyold camerap Neither is yours, for
that matter, if Robin had beenpaying better attention might have occurred to them
(24:44):
that this was a very strange comfortto offer. As it is, they
are too busy trying to piece togethertheir jumbled thoughts and the puzzle that grows
before them. I know it's notphotographs, that's still people as the lives
away. It's paintings, is it. I I'm sorry, I just did
(25:10):
I miss something or someone? Didsomeone come by? I don't believe.
So why those changed the flowers?They're different now, I should hope.
So transformation is the resondetra of thisplace. What tell me more about how
(25:30):
painting is still a person's life.I don't think. No, no,
Look, I'm sure your mom ordad or whoever is a good therapist,
and that you've picked up a fewtips and tricks from them. But I
don't think I'm comfortable you've got itall well and silly. My parents aren't
(25:51):
therapists, nor am I you forthat matter? Right? Sure, okay,
then I'm sure whoever it is you'rerelated to in this building is a
good therapist. Personally, I wouldn'tcall my little brother a good anything.
You're a little No No, Imeant whoever on staff you're related to,
(26:14):
the person that let you play behindthe front desk, or unless wait,
are you another patient? Did allof my personal information get given to another
patient? I told you I'm nota patient. I'm Victoria and I am
here to help. Now. Isyour drawing just about Finnish Robin? I
(26:37):
think it's time we added it tothe gallery. You have a gallery,
yes, and no, the galleryis in my building. That much is
true, but it actually belongs toyou. How could it possibly belong to
me? You'll understand when you seeit. Come along. It's just a
lift ride away. The lift inquestion is an elegant snarl of wirework and
(27:07):
polished brass, waiting with doors wideopen on the far end of the lobby.
Even if Robin hadn't been instructed towait, they wouldn't have risked taking
the elevator. It is an antiquatedthing, much like the building that it
services, which is all well andgood when it comes to interior design,
but technology. Robin winces as theyare half guided, half pulled into the
(27:34):
empty car, the molders and theirgrimace grinding his metal moans beneath their feet.
The sound is disconcertingly similar to thatof someone in agony, and echoes
like a paintbrush falling from pain crippledhands. Can't we take the stairs please?
(27:57):
I'm afraid not stairs offered too muchautonomy. What do you mean by
that? I mean that if you'dbeen able to climb the stairs and face
what needed facing by your own power, you wouldn't have found yourself here in
the first place. How could youpossibly know on the day of Rosette's death,
(28:19):
how long did you stand at thebase of the hospital steps. If
Robin hadn't already been staring at thefloor, willing it to maintain a structural
integrity, then they would have believedthat had collapsed beneath them, dropping them
into the void. That's not fair. How long, Robin, You don't
(28:41):
understand? How long an hour?When I got to the hospital, she
was still alive. That's what theytold me after I I was so angry.
I couldn't make my body move.I couldn't take the first step.
(29:06):
I just stood there staring at them. That's why I never got to say
goodbye, exactly. And so I'mafraid the stairs won't take you to the
place you need to go. Fingernailsdigging into their atrocious sketch, Robin sniffles,
(29:26):
glowering at their acrylic spattered shoes.There were still scuff marks on the
toecaps left behind or the concrete ofthat first step. It wasn't my fault,
not really, not completely. Rosettewas the one who told me to
leave. She was the one whowanted to finish that stupid picture. It
(29:49):
was more important to her than spendingtime with me, even at the very
end. Yes, that was afunny choice in your part on my part.
Well, she gave you another option, didn't she. I try not
to judge more than is necessary,but I must say I struggle to understand
(30:11):
why you choose to honor her secondrequest rather than her first. I suppose
a proper therapist might cite the veryhuman instinct to let go of something before
it can hurt you. That doesthat really apply here? It seems to
me that you're much more deeply hurtnow than you would have been otherwise.
Robin wants to scream at her,would scream at her were they able,
(30:36):
But victorious words had struck them likea punch to the guts, rendering Robin
breathless, speechless, and stunned.All that moves or Robin's molten glass tears,
threatening blisters as they slide down theircheeks. One lends atop the drawing,
further smearing Robin's horrendous rendition of Victoria. The other splatter on the elevator's
(31:00):
floor tiles, oozing through the cracksand the grouts and feeding what grows there?
Wait, what grows there? Turningtheir head, Robin stares into the
dirt, dark shadows that can sealthe lift's back corner. And yes,
there, just there, there's aplant, a flower, a creeping,
(31:29):
lignious stalk, poking through the gratewhere the wall and flooring meat. It
is small, yet and as immaculateas any springtime bud. But before Robin's
bleary eyes, a cluster of starwhite flowers bloom upon that straining branch,
A series of strange constellations connected bylines drawn down silken petals. Robin,
(31:56):
baffled, blinks at the Asphodel.The Asphodel resolute waves hello, or it
seems to anyway. It doesn't really, no, of course not. It's
it's simply stuck in the lifts,hidden mechanics made to move as the gears
do. Why is it there,though? How? Where is it rooted
(32:22):
in the shaft's foundation If a dandelioncan push through cement, Robin reasons it's
technically feasible. But christ is ittaller? Now? Just a moment ago,
it barely reached Robin's ankle. Nowit's at their shin their knee,
and oh, there's another one anda third the tallest of its spikes,
(32:47):
reaching through the ornate bars that notbeneath the operating panel. Idea ike rather
thought we had more time. Iain't vote for chattering, I suppose six
blow. The announcement is punctuated bya belle's cheery toll and the unpleasant elastic
(33:08):
straining of weeds struggling to remain rooted. Their effort is valiant, no match
for the lift. Crack snap,and the Asphodel's petals become a shower at
pale meteors. Mystifying Robin can donothing but continue to stare. The ruined
stems remain threaded through the elevator's decorativegaps, clinging to the car's bottom with
(33:32):
the tenacity of severed hands. Beneaththe lift's rumbles, Robin can hear those
desiccated offshoots jutter and jabber and jostlearound uselessly. It is useless, isn't
it? What regret? Unless itinspires a matter of change, It's useless.
(33:52):
What are you talking about? Didyou just read my mind? Here
we are at the funeral. Robinhad overheard one of Rosette's more new agy
ants make allusions to the veil,and how tragic it was that her niece
was now beyond it. The manwith whom she had been talking nodded his
(34:16):
somber agreement, but Robin had wantedto scream at the wrongness of the words.
The stupidity of the idiom. Veilis gossamer, thin, elegant,
and easy to remove. But death. Death is an interminable pit of cold.
(34:36):
Soil presses, and it processes,and it does not allow escape.
There is no other side to it. It cannot be shaken off, or
dug from, or opened up.Yet as the doors of Victoria's lift draw
apart, they move with such ineffablesmoothness Robin finds themselves reminded of a veil
(35:00):
beyond it. Beyond it is Rosette'sstudio apartment. This isn't possible. It
(35:21):
can't be possible. It shouldn't bepossible. The very idea is insane.
But there is no mistaking the roomthat waits beyond the elevator's threshold, as
small and as sunlit as it hadalways been, it is exactly as Robin
knows it should be. Not onepen is out of place. There in
(35:44):
the corner is the wobbly old stoolthat Robin used to model on it's uneven
leg missing flakes of blue paint.There on the kitchenette counter is the porcelain
bowl that Rosette used for water andpainting after the incident with the team mug.
And there on the window seat isthe unfurled, crocheted blanket, A
(36:05):
signal developed to let the other knowthat they needed to sit down and talk.
So I got a call from thedoctor today about my test results,
and the NUDS wasn't good, Robin. A surge of emotion rushes through Robin,
(36:29):
too virulent and powerful to be understood. All they can do is hold
their breath and endure it. Theytry not to be swept away. Come
back, please, Robin. You'vebeen to enough exhibits to realize that they
are meant to be viewed in acertain order. Robin startles, finding themselves
in the middle of the room beforethey even realized they'd moved. Victoria lingers
(36:52):
behind them, staring pointedly at anearby wall. Robin doesn't question her attention
at first, having themselves spent countlesshours admiring the rainbows painted across it by
Rosette. Suncatchers. But then Victoriabegins to read aloud, and Robin's own
focus shifts from the overgrown macromay plantanchors to an unfamiliar plaque Welcome to the
(37:17):
Egglan Team Gallery. A tangle ofthe flowers in question cascade over the signs
edges, hanging from its ornate metalworkby the hooks of its thorns. The
sunburst yellow center of the blossoms painttheir own rainbows, and Robin gas at
the prismatic petals, vibrantly pink andsmelling of apples. This no, this
(37:42):
doesn't make sense. That isn't it, Given your artistic history and the theme
of the collection, I argue thatit's exceptionally well suited. Not the name.
I mean this, all of this. This isn't an art gallery,
an apartment. It's Rosette's apartment.Except except it can't be that either.
(38:06):
We sold Rosette's apartment months ago.This stuff too, This can't be here.
We can't be here, and wearen't. We aren't here, at
least not the here to which youare referring. Like I said, we're
in your gallery in my building.There's knowing that makes you feel better or
(38:28):
worse. I feel like I'm losingmy mind. Believe me, there are
worse things to lose. Why areyou doing this? The clues in the
name. Honestly, Robin, symbolismis as prevalent in poetry as it is
in physical art. Start thinking likean artist, a poet. A puzzle's
(38:51):
over, now, come along,take me on the ground tour. Oh,
let's start over here, shall we. With one small hand, Victoria
gestures to a canvas hung on theother side of the room. Robin doesn't
remember there being a painting above thewobbly old stool, but much like the
bouquet in the lobby, it's undeniablythere. Now. Robin isn't even surprised
(39:15):
anymore, nor do they protest whenVictoria gently guides them closer. Their footfalls
muffled by Warren carpet and an elegiacmelody hidden somewhere amongst Rosette's many trinkets.
The music box trips over the notesof a chord. Tell me about this
(39:35):
painting, please. It's a closeupof petunias done in watercolors. And true
art is never just what one seeson the surface. There is always other
messages. Maybe they are meant forone person, or all people, or
just the artists themselves, but theyare always there. So dig deeper day
(40:00):
that Peginia's mean Robert, they meanresentment, they mean anger. I've a
what life. Everything my parents hadbasically washed their hands of me. I
was stuck sharing a house with sixof the world's shittiest roommates, and on
top of that, none of mypoetry was selling. I guess I wasn't
(40:20):
suffering quite enough, you know,to be a real artist. So I'd
come over to Rosette's place and I'dsit on this stool and she'd let me
bitch about it. I guess Iwas animated when I ranted, because one
day she asked if she could sketchme while listening. I figured it was
at least I could do. Ididn't want to waste her time. And
eventually, I don't know, Ididn't have as much to complain about,
(40:47):
and me modeling for Rosette just becamea thing. And that made you angry
too. You've resented that. No, No, many flowers symbolize more than
one thing. Petunias can refer toanger and resentment, but also to hope.
(41:07):
They used to be gifted to peopleyou wanted to spend time with because
you found their presence soothing intriguing.And what about that piece. Following Victoria's
gaze to the kitchen att counter,Robin notices a fresco of wax and pink
camellias flourishing behind the porcelain bowl.The breath that escapes them is tinged more
(41:30):
with amusement than alarm, and againthey do not resist Victoria's poll when she
drags them closer, trying to geta better look at the installation. Camelias
in general represent love, gratitude,and devotion, but pink ones are often
a symbol of longing. I've beencasually modeling for Rosette for about a year
(41:52):
when she asked if I might becomfortable hosing well nake, Oh dear,
it was a perfectly professional request,it really was. Drawing nude bodies is
so common a practice in the artworld. Rose I didn't even bat an
(42:14):
eyelash asking, and I didn't mind. I'd done it before, even for
that figures class I'd worked for theone we'd met in, so I didn't
think anything of it, and Idon't think she really did either. But
then, well, when my clothesactually came off, she got so blustered.
(42:36):
Honestly, it was adorable, wellat least until she mixed up her
tea in a cup of old paintwater. Then it was hilarious. And
the drawing she didn't finish it.We got distracted by other things. After
(42:58):
that we were together. But howlong? Not long enough? What a
pity is that a theme of thispicture? Robin does not offer an answer
because they are directed to the windowseat, where propped in the folds of
the rumpled crochet blanket is a photoframed sketch of purple hyacinth sprouting in a
(43:21):
garden. Well is that the theme? Yes, four years isn't nothing.
But we could have had more.We should have had more, even just
a little more. But the cancerspread so damn fast, and Rosette was
adamant that she complete one last painting. Finishing It was all that mattered to
(43:45):
her. It was more important thanspending time with her friends, or her
family or o Ye, that fuckingpicture consumed the rest of Rosette's life.
She could have spent it on somuch else, on anything else, Or
(44:06):
we could have gone to the botanicalgarden one last time. We could have
made magnetic poetry. We could haveplayed god damn bananagrams with her brother.
I wouldn't have cared, just solong as we could have spent that time
together. But no, she lockedme out, and five months later she
(44:27):
was dead, and we'll never getthat time back. Have you ever seen
Rosette Greenaway's final painting? I don'twant to see it. She willed it
to you. I said, Idon't want to see it. And Rosette
wanted you to plant flowers in hermemory, but you refused. What else
was she meant to do? Robinrecoils the accusation, landing with the physicality
(44:51):
of a slap. Blood rises intheir cheeks, their ears ring, and
beneath the tinny residence of their ownsting hurt. Robin hears again the memory
of Rosette's voice, back when shewould still allow Robin to visit. I'm
going to write you a list ofwhat to plan. There'll be a secret
(45:13):
until then, but you have topromise me that you'll do it. Will
you promise, Robin? Robin hadn'tpromised. Robin doesn't remember what they'd said,
but that doesn't matter anymore. Theydon't need to remember, because they
can hear it and their own wordsand their own voice. The reply drifts
(45:36):
from the direction of the kitchen table, threaded like lyrics through the melody of
the music box. I no,I can't, Rosette. I'm sorry,
I just I couldn't handle watching anythingelse die, not after this. There
is no point to the hand thatRobin claps over their mouth. It does
(45:58):
nothing change, just nothing. Theirrejection still echoes, and the music box
still plays louder with every step Robintakes towards the table. Robin almost doesn't
recognize that table. When Rosette wasalive, it was always blotted with pastels
and charcoal, laden with bottles andbrushes and t shirts. She hadn't meant
(46:20):
to turn into paint rags, butone accident led to another, and Rosette
never said no to more paint rags. That was then, though Now it's
clean. All the stains have beenscrubbed off, and there are only two
things left atop it, victorious musicbox and a gilt framed canvas on a
(46:42):
miniature easel draped with a piece ofcloth. The fabric is gossamer, thin,
elegant and easy to remove another veil. It flutters, revealing nothing.
When Victoria moves to stand beside it, beside the picture, Robin needs to
(47:06):
brace themselves against the table to remainupright. Your whole body weak is wet
paper, This is heart is long, and time is fleeting. Longfellow wrote
that Rosette wanted to leave you withthese living reminders once that would grow and
flourish after she was gone. Butyou were too afraid of that which is
(47:30):
inevitable. You forgot that an integralpart of beauty is its transience. You
wanted something that would last, andRosette's sought to give that to you.
That wasn't what I'd meant. Thatwasn't what I wanted. This isn't what
I wanted. I'm afraid that isirrelevant. What you wanted, what you
(47:53):
meant, It means nothing now thatmoment has passed. What that matters is
life in this moment, and whetheryou want it to or not, Robin,
what you have in this moment isa choice to make, and what
you need is to make it achoice. Rosette spent her last days completing
(48:16):
this for you. That was herchoice, but accepting that decision, respecting
her wishes, acknowledging what she wantedto tell you, and coming to terms
with your loss. That is yourchoice. Rosette's painting looms on its makeshift
plength, the spectral monument to whatF's and what could have been, to
(48:39):
so much and to nothing at all. The tears are starting to well again,
white hot and pedaled as they spilldown Robin's face. They smell like
that elevator. They smell like Asphodel. It's not fair. I've never even
(49:02):
cut to say goodbye. No youdidn't, And whatever happens here, regardless
of what you decide, that won'tchange. But there is more than one
way to bid a loved one farewell. Kisses, hugs, small tokens of
remembrance, ultive candles and incense sticksto offer light in the dark, memorial
(49:24):
photos and scrap books, smooth stonesleft on a cleaned grave. As I
said, there is a time anda place for speaking, and a time
and a place for silence. Itisn't always about the words you use,
Robin. Often it is about thewords you don't. As a poet,
(49:45):
you surely must know that the shroudripples and the answering quiet stirred by Robin's
nid. Beneath those gentle black waves, Robin glimpses the promise of green,
verdant and vibrant, vivid and undying. They ripped the veil away. In
(50:12):
the golden glow of afternoon, Rosette'scanvas bursts into bloom, like a living
thing, a phantasmagoric garden of paintedpoetry, where acrylics bleed into emotions,
and emotions meld back into acrylics,as a wild and wonderful mess, woven
into patterns that nature would struggle toallow, but by Rosette's hand, the
(50:37):
arrangement feels organic, feels real.Before Robin's eyes, colors dripped down the
ruffled edges of gathered carnations, makingthe tips of their ivory petals blush.
The magenta azelius beside them act asaccent translucent and dew dropped and redolent of
(50:59):
stained glass. White clover fills thegaps between the pale purple flocks, while
around a twirling braid of morning glories, cling pendant bundles of arbutus, there
are orchids and tulips, asters andforget me nots, and they're in the
center, caught an a delicate breeze, a waving patch of sweet peas.
(51:22):
Robin can almost hear the blossoms whisperingagainst each other. Soft is one hand
releasing another. It is the soundof letting go. It is the sound
of a goodbye stood patiently beside Robin. Victoria lays a palm atop her music
(51:43):
box, ending its song. You'revery lucky, you know, am I.
It's true that many of us arenever afforded the chance to say goodbye
to as we care about. ButI think perhaps it's rare still to be
(52:05):
a chosen recipient of such a goodbye, especially one is eloquent and beautiful as
this. So, yes, youare very lucky. Now you will never
forget that love doesn't die. Robincan think of nothing to say to this,
nothing that feels adequate anyway, Butthat is okay. Sometimes it is
(52:28):
about the words one uses, butsometimes it is about the words they don't.
Victoria, Yes, this painting waswilled to me, right, you
said that? So can I haveit? Can I keep it? Goodness?
(52:51):
Have you forgotten where we are?This is a gallery, Robin.
You can't steal out from a gallery. But it's my gallery. This build
is yours, but the gallery ismine. That's what you said. Ah,
so I did well. Then Isuppose it was for the taking.
Though this section of the exhibit willlook awfully silly without something on display.
(53:14):
I don't suppose you have a pieceof art with which we might replace this
one. It is only after thethird of Victoria's increasingly pointed looks at Robin's
fist that they remember there is somethingclutched within it, something they've held onto
this whole time, the sketch,or the remnants of the sketch. Anyway,
(53:37):
it looks less like Victoria than itever had before. Honestly, it
looks less like a sketch than itever had before. Crumpled and sweat blurred,
it more closely resembles a bald upsheet of monochrome paper than it does
a portrait remains. But when itopens up like a flower in the palm
of Robin's hand, it almost makessense. In spite of themselves, in
(54:02):
spite of everything. Robin has tolaugh. You drive a hard bargain,
Victoria. I like it. It'sa move. Smiling sobbing, Robin lifts
Rosette's painting from the little Wooden Easelreplaces it with their own masterpiece. It's
(54:28):
yours. Thank you for listening totoday's episode of Victoria's Left. We're really
(54:55):
happy that you joined us for thefirst episode of the new season, and
we have a great season in storefor you, as well as the second
half of To Those Who Thrive inthe Dark, our mini series by Christopher
Long. Today's author was m Reganwith their story Art Therapy. Today's story
featured me Daniel Foytech as the narrator, Addison Peacock as Rosette, g P.
(55:17):
McKinsey as Robin, and Ambercollins asVictoria. Our season five producers are
Daniel Foytech and Meg Williams. Ourresident composer and music director is Nico Vedes
of We Talk Of Dreams. Ourart director is Jeanette Andromeda. Artwork for
today's episode was created by Greg Schaefer, our webmaster and graphic designer. Our
(55:37):
editors are Meg Williams and Daniel Foytech. To find out more about today's contributors
and our team, please visit Victoria'sliftdot com and check out their biopages.
If you'd like to help us keepbringing you Victoria's Adventures. Please consider supporting
us on Patreon at patreon dot comforward slash Victoria's Lift. You can,
of course follow us on social mediaon Instagram and Twitter at Victoria's Left.
(56:01):
Victoria's Left is created by Ninth StoryStudios LLLC. All rights reserved of what
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