Post by Thomas Tawney on Nov 16, 2022 17:55:46 GMT
The spacious wooden hall had been transformed from a studio into a gallery. Bright sunlight streamed down from the high windows, and the walls were lined with paintings. Everything in the gallery was produced by the students from the Royal Academy of Art. For some, the art show was a chance to show off their finest and more recent works. For others, there was the hope that some wealthy patron might take notice and request a commission. For George Strickland, he was firmly in the latter group. He was a scrappy young man with blonde hair that was determined to grow in any direction but down, and his large blue eyes had the misfortune of giving him a perpetually alarmed look. He came from a family with poor connections and not much standing though they counted as gentlemen and owned land. As a younger son, his prospects for anything were low, and he put all his hope on being able to survive by his art.
He extended an invitation to his childhood friend, Thomas, in the hopes of reconnecting beyond a few letters a year. They attended Harrow School together and were assigned to the same house. As boys, they were willing to overlook any class differences that might have kept them apart as adults, and by the time they were old enough to care that others thought about their stations, they were already friends. George patted Thomas's arm and left to find a couple flutes of champagne while they finished their tour of the gallery.
Thomas continued his slow perusal of the various pieces. It was a mish mash of styles and subjects and talents. One piece was a still life of a fruit bowl, and the next poor man's attempt at a Baroque portrait. He stopped in front of one painting of a nude woman. She was beautiful with how the light touched her skin and the curls of her hair. The draped fabric in the background brought focus to her figure.
George returned a minute later carrying two champagne flutes and handed one to Thomas. "Has something other than horses finally caught your eye? You're looking at her the same way you do fillies at Tattersalls." Thomas shot his friend a playfully annoyed look. "I do not. I can recognize skill when I see it. She reminds me of a Grecian statue or a painting by an Italian master."
"And you would be the expert on both of those." George lowered his voice to a whisper. "Truly, I am sorry to hear about your father. I know this is presumptuous of me, yet I must say it. If you ever wish to clear your home of those busts and statues, do let me know." Thomas shook his head. The Greek and Roman marble wasn't a distressing reminder of the late earl, and they did make for good study works without leaving the comfort of home.
George looked over his shoulder and spotted his classmate and the artist of the painting. He didn't know Benedict well and certainly wouldn't have called him a friend, but they were acquaintances by nature of being in the same class. He held no ill opinions towards Benedict, as an artist, there was no complaint. George broke away with a low promise to be back and strode over to his fellow. "Mr. Bridgerton, I may have found your newest admirer. Come, allow me to introduce you to an old friend." He barely waited for a response before fetching Thomas and nearly dragging him over. "Mr. Bridgerton, Lord Warrington. We were just looking at your contribution to the show."
Thomas replied with a small smile through his otherwise somewhat stiff posture. "A pleasure. I'm glad to see that the Academy lives up to its reputation of producing fine young artists. You have a sharp eye for the softness of the female form." It was an unbridled compliment, and the praise was evident in his tone.
Tagged: Benedict Bridgerton
He extended an invitation to his childhood friend, Thomas, in the hopes of reconnecting beyond a few letters a year. They attended Harrow School together and were assigned to the same house. As boys, they were willing to overlook any class differences that might have kept them apart as adults, and by the time they were old enough to care that others thought about their stations, they were already friends. George patted Thomas's arm and left to find a couple flutes of champagne while they finished their tour of the gallery.
Thomas continued his slow perusal of the various pieces. It was a mish mash of styles and subjects and talents. One piece was a still life of a fruit bowl, and the next poor man's attempt at a Baroque portrait. He stopped in front of one painting of a nude woman. She was beautiful with how the light touched her skin and the curls of her hair. The draped fabric in the background brought focus to her figure.
George returned a minute later carrying two champagne flutes and handed one to Thomas. "Has something other than horses finally caught your eye? You're looking at her the same way you do fillies at Tattersalls." Thomas shot his friend a playfully annoyed look. "I do not. I can recognize skill when I see it. She reminds me of a Grecian statue or a painting by an Italian master."
"And you would be the expert on both of those." George lowered his voice to a whisper. "Truly, I am sorry to hear about your father. I know this is presumptuous of me, yet I must say it. If you ever wish to clear your home of those busts and statues, do let me know." Thomas shook his head. The Greek and Roman marble wasn't a distressing reminder of the late earl, and they did make for good study works without leaving the comfort of home.
George looked over his shoulder and spotted his classmate and the artist of the painting. He didn't know Benedict well and certainly wouldn't have called him a friend, but they were acquaintances by nature of being in the same class. He held no ill opinions towards Benedict, as an artist, there was no complaint. George broke away with a low promise to be back and strode over to his fellow. "Mr. Bridgerton, I may have found your newest admirer. Come, allow me to introduce you to an old friend." He barely waited for a response before fetching Thomas and nearly dragging him over. "Mr. Bridgerton, Lord Warrington. We were just looking at your contribution to the show."
Thomas replied with a small smile through his otherwise somewhat stiff posture. "A pleasure. I'm glad to see that the Academy lives up to its reputation of producing fine young artists. You have a sharp eye for the softness of the female form." It was an unbridled compliment, and the praise was evident in his tone.
Tagged: Benedict Bridgerton
