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Ihad to take their no for an answer.
Gertrud, the elderly lady who, God knew why, worked on aSaturday said the staff arrangements were not subject to change, that Erin was this amazing, talented, and dedicated student everyone loved, and if Iwanted another assistant Ihad to state why. Iwasn’tin the business of getting people fired, and so Ikept my mouth shut and left.
Defeated and still unsure how to deal with Erin, Ireturned to my office. On my way there, Iglimpsed through the glass windows fixed on the school’sstudio doors in passing. Seeing my stubborn TA piqued my curiosity and Istuck around to watch what this so-called great artist worked on.
She faced alarge canvas, sitting on astool with her bare feet on the lower levels of it. Her light brown hair covered half her face in long waves. The uncovered part of her face revealed her lips, pouting as she examined her painting with paint covering her cheek.
She looked like amess and yet she reminded me of my younger self.
Iwondered if Icould’ve learned something about creativity and the love of painting from her. Imight’ve been able to, without being so furious at her. When we’dstart behaving like professionals. When I’dschedule ameeting with her and she wouldn’tbe late or hungover. When she wouldn’ttalk back to me and could actually listen.
She was, after all, my employee and she’dhave to start acting the part.
And I’ddo everything to make her understand it.
