Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was just about a month to the day since his trip to the nursery and meeting Mr. Evans. His life had been a whorl, days bleeding into each other with classes, patrols, working ahead on personal projects and portfolio pieces- it was never too early, even as a freshman, to start thinking about where he wanted to go. At least not if Stroud knew anything about advising artists, which he liked to think that she did.

His plants were doing well- strong limbed, good leaves, nice shape. No funny smells or root rot. They liked his little window and shelf, becoming a spill of colour in his mostly grey room and grey, blurred, busy life. It meant he didn't have that excuse to message the other, but Alexandre had mentioned other excuses were also fine. And it was long enough after graduations that hopefully the youth was done with party and free for the walkabout they'd discussed.

Quenton himself was taking a break from the studio, still wearing his leather apron and breathing mask loose around his neck. The air outside was cool compared to the scent of pouring and sanding that stuck in his nose. He pulled out his cell and started it off - nothing tried would mean automatic failure -

• Hey, this is Quenton, the clueless sculptor that bought plants a month ago. I know its short notice, but if you're free, today's a great day to tour the studios and art department with no one getting in the way. Most everyone is home for the break, or not working during the week at the studio. You could look at everything without having to worry about being self-conscious or upper level students staring at you like you're a zombie.
  So even later in the week woudl be great, too, if today isn't. I'll be on campus.

The fact that there was any response was a delightful surprise, let alone one more prompt and infinitely more pleasant than days later and telling him what bridge to jump off of. He'd let things pile up, and really, a month was too long to let things slide socially. Quenton wasn't sure what he could let give to try to fit more in his schedule- he was terrible at schedules. Sure, a daily planner could help, but he'd probably misplace it or forget to write things down in it anyway.

It was just a losing situation no matter how he looked at it. But Alex replied! Could he call him Alex? Maybe that was too familiar, other than some people just honestly hated the shortened versions of their name- himself included for the most part. Quincy had gotten old after too many Quincy Morris Halloween suggestions since he was old enough to actually read Dracula.

• I am on campus!
  The East Quad is easy to find, has free parking in the summer if you have a car and a bus stop if you don't. There's a tea olive tree that smells wonderful and is an easy landmark to meet at. Take all the time you need, I can walk to one of the bookstores and grab some waters for us and relax until you get here.

He started walking right away, even. The campus stores carried lots of supplies other than books- dorm decor like posters, art supplies, used and new books, university swag and more. And he remembered something that they'd talked about at the nursery that might make a nice touch to let the other know that he had taken their chatting seriously and really did enjoy it through attentiveness- the store sold small, ubiquitous red-clay potted window sill plants for dorms. Many were succulents and Cacti, or as Quenton had professionally termed them 'pokey plants'. He'd never gotten to show Alexandre just what a 'pokey' plant was, and it might even get a laugh out of him.

Other than that, it was just a matter of waiting and enjoying the sun filtering through the thick, waxy leaves of the Tea Olive and keeping an eye at the lot. There wasn't a lot of traffic, foot or vehicular. He wondered idly if the other youth would still seem so delicate outside of a green house setting. Flowers looked good near Alexander, enough that it seemed a shame to take him into harsh, industrial architecture with art detritus and chaos everywhere. Not that most of the students didn't try to keep the workspace in some order, but use connotated wear and tear. The precision Alex had shown at work was probably likely to bleed over into his art, which might make the studio spaces maddening.

Better to know that ahead of time? Especially if he had the loans or money to afford his own apartment instead of dorming, then he could have his own space to work in without stress. Quenton weighed the other hand as well - not using the common spaces and not dorming in initial semesters always hamstrung commuters socially. The dormers always had pre-established stories and common experiences, got to know each others' names faster, and often formed fast cliques that commuters were always at least one step outside of (if not more). It was all stuff that he could bring up once the other boy got there.

Not all business, Quenton. He said you could message him any time, not just about the plants...so that's something more than business. Don't be dense. Helpful, a gentleman, and fun. You can do fun, right? Show him a good time. The sculptor ruffled his own rough hands through his hair sternly.

Distracted by picking up things and being in the right spot, Quenton was, of course, still in his leather apron and filter-mask dangling around his neck. The charcoal Henley underneath of that was years-worn thin so that it wasn’t over hot, easy to bunch up the thin material at his elbows to let his forearms breathe. Jeans, thick and long since marked by welding, stone dust, paint and belt sanders were equally nondescript but protective in studio. They were a little hot, but the tea olive’s shade helped a little. On the plus side, the apron had pockets big enough for welding tools, so it easily handled carrying the waters while he cupped the little clay pot of the pokey plant so that it didn't get tipped or knocked about in the case of not carrying it by hand and leaving it in a plastic purchase bag. Which he rathered not to do.

The warning text informed him to start paying closer attention, and the lone approaching SUV had at least a 90% chance of being his guest, so Quenton got up from leaning in some shade to lift a hand and walk towards other as he revealed himself in the light of unmitigated day. Alexandre looked almost too high class, in a way, for DCU. Maybe something like Brown or Dartmouth suited the image better. And what student ever owned a Lexus SUV? Lexus had an image for luxury and not utility. It was almost an oxymoron.

"Helios disembarks and I am blinded more than by noon sun alone. You look ready for Cornell, not DCU, " he hoped it would be taken as a compliment. "I'll try not to get you clouded with tarnish or art dust. But the labs can be pretty rough, so we'll avoid sitting on any of the figure drawing benches. Those are always interesting mixes of conte, charcoal and graphite."

"Was the drive alright? I got you a water and a little gift. I can carry it unti lwe get back though- my hands are already dirty. We won't want to carry it around all day either, so it can wait on a ledge. " He held it out, "Pokey Plant."

"Phaëton shone, but his fate is not one I think polite to reckon on a friend. Words of ill omen, " He didn't think Alexandre was one likely to grasp for honors or victory that his hands (or other's starseeds) could not hold. He seemed too quiet and possibly calculating for that. Quenton's own internal monologue sniggered about the 'share of time dirty' statements, but was quashed without actual external comment.

Don't be rude. I'm not twelve.

Quenton straightened being observed. It was a return of appraisal, and favourable, but that it was done at all was already a positive. He said I could message him any time, and now this? Do I believe....yes, yes I think I do. I think its a possible. Possible without offending, anyway. Acceptance or not is more undefined.

"Its an old custom not to meet someone empty handed. Usually it would be bread and salt or something, I'm sure. Better it be something you might like or enjoy rather than a stab in the dark. Though if this is on your nightstand that may be possible anyway," he tried at a joke, starting walking and leaning to indicate that Alexandre should follow, "Shade and the main studio building are this way. Its a couple floors. Different labs for disciplines. Not all of them are air conditioned because large open spaces are expensive to bother with. The figure drawing labs tend to be. The sculpture labs....temperature not so much but the humidity they do try to control. Most of the painting studios don't because they're higher up and have a lot of windows for North light. Vermeer and it being the best light o paint by, not that I paint much. "

"A lot of the freshman courses get the basement studios though, not the upstairs one. We could start there if you like? Progress like Dante and Virgil through the depths and then resurrect ourselves to the light." He offered out the second water in case Alexandre was thirsty.

"There's no need to apologize for not being old fashioned. I don't keep every old custom on the books, just a few which seemed poignant, “ But the succinct description of specific, and to be honest a very odd assortment for a bouquet had to have some sort of meaning. He looked over, expression meet with thought and vigilance. The other still seemed reserved, but his eyes held deeper sparkles of mystery- something known, shared but without Rosetta stone offered to decipher it in immediate company. The flowers must each mean something specific, like coral roses being desire while yellow meant only friendship. “There’s a code in that, something meant. I’ll take that as a very enjoyable challenge.”

Truth was it was actually rather hot, being challenged to learn something new, “Like being given something better than the bouquet, and saves the flowers.”

Watercolors were exciting work- fast and thought out because there was essentially no erasing (like pencils) and no painting over it (like oils). “Water colors I think are usually plein air classes in good weather, and wherever is open in bad. Why do you or would you want to avoid n***s? It’s somewhat necessary to knowing and studying, really studying, anatomy. The figure drawing lessons I’ve been in have been about fifty-fifty with nude or clothed, similarly with standing or doing gestures of movement. It’s been a helpful progression, actually, starting from lithographs and etchings, plaster models and then moving to live models. It’s so different how flesh and muscle bend , bunch, stretch compared to plaster or stone. Or how light bounces through the skin, opaque in some places but like soapstone in others- blue veins showing through pallid gold or amber or coffee tourmaline. That ‘masters’ like Leonardo kept studying it even to the ends of their life from cadavers emphasizes just how complex of a study it is to try to capture life itself for a fleeting moment immortal on paper, in a photo, on stone.”

“I can in more than one place show you my work, “ he held the door for Alex as the got to the building, turning to the stairs immediately offered. It was already so much nicer than the blistering outside. The halls were dark and cool with granite floors, cement walls, 1950s ceiling fans turned on because the few students who stayed the summer tended to like airflow. “Not many semesters in, so I’ve got work down in the basement as well as what I’ve got going in the actual sculpture lab on the back end of the ground floor near the freight dock.”

Floris-flower, graph-writing. Writing of flowers. Briefly flashed undesired images of trying to use cut stems as quill pens, which was unhelpful. Not that he needed more help in just that moment. The puzzle called for a book, or more than one, in which to research what was probably a complex code and etiquette. He wasn't about to go bother books when he had Alex right there with him and was supposed to be showing him about the place.
The explanation of reasoning he listened to the whole of, considering seriously as it rolled out before commenting. “Maybe it’s a view thing that would help you advance as an artist.”

“You’re focusing on figure drawing and figurative drawing as modes of expression wholly on the naked body. Not the nude. It isn’t an argument of semantics, but ideas. Nakedness implies the presence of shame, nudeness is absent of it. There’s a lot of debate in the fine arts, relatedly, about the traditional depictions of gender in historic pieces, from the Greek to the renaissance, all highlight the sexuality of the female body rather than its ideal geometry. But if you look at male n***s, they all emphasis ideal measures, compositions, angles. Male n***s depict active subjects, female ones often reclining, or resting. Sedentary. “

“True enough that there is very intentional sexuality in most classical female n***s, and if your preferences lie very polar to that, I can see how being bombarded with that as the most usual theme or intention being annoyed or fed up, even disgusted, with it all.”

“Consider the works of Sylvia Sleigh. She just died a few years ago, actually. But she did some provocative idea shifting about the whole ordeal of gender dynamics throughout her career. Her paintings mimicked many famous, traditional works but with the genders switched. “Quenton held the doors as they went, leading slow but sure to the aforementioned freshmen figure study labs- drawing horses, standing easels, and figure podiums stacked mostly neatly at the edges for the break. There were large vertical slots for drawing boards, a wall of flat files, and more than one trashcan placed around to encourage snacks or drinks not be left idly about and dangerously near assignments. “You should focus on the geometry and composition of figures first, gender not a consideration. See the model as the human machine, and compose from there. Looking at really complex clockwork doesn’t disgust you, and certainly wouldn’t be meant to arouse. “

“It would come in handy for figures not traditionally considered erotic by societal standards anyway. Gender bias won’t be the only component of classes. Aged and youth models, body morphs from skeletal to obese, ‘race’ such as applies when we’re all homo sapiens- they get a worthy diversity to teach the mysteries of the Vitruvian. “Quenton paused, “I’m lecturing. Philosophies aside, it’s good to know I have a snowball’s chance instead of no chance.” ”

“I should probably get a teaching license, how much I do go on given the leeway. “ He was breaking his own advice to himself not to blather on about something so soon that they might disagree on. He could hardly help it though, if they wanted to be artists they had first be able to see the figure as an object, not as the person, to then expand. It's just how it was, strict and certain.

“There are divider canvas that you can have down from the ceiling over there to create backdrops or smaller studios. And these flat files are free for the using, 2 students per drawer. These are all freshmen, naturally, so when you advance you are expected to move your work to the sophomore files, or to put to your portfolio.” He pulled out some leaves from a drawer, setting them out for Alexandre’s perusal. “These are hour long gestures I was doing to prepare for a cast figure up in the studio. These are n***s, and then I arranged with one of the local SCA enthusiasts to come in and do the pose armored as well. Too much Cadfael and looking at the Dying Gaul. It’s nothing groundbreaking in conception, just a study to practice form, composition and materials with and make something ‘pretty’. I’m only just finished with the master to make the mold from, so you’ll get to see process work on this piece.”

"If you can afford to hire private models, or can get a friend to volunteer, and have a studio in an extra room, or rent one, I think it would probably be good practice to getting used to the process and situation. Honestly, I don't mind volunteering if you can't find someone better- it sounds like pure aesthetics are important to you straight off. I can't claim to have Michael Phelps physique. Maybe trying at one of the sports teams or gyms."

Alex stumbling over his comment was adorable, honestly. Had the guy ever had a relationship of any sort in high school? It was certainly possible that he hadn't. He'd seemed nervous on outing himself, so he may still be in the closet to family and friends, and was trying his wings for the first time in college. But Alex skimmed it, and continued on. "They really are. Honestly...I don't sleep much. Usually only four or five hours a day, and not at a regular time. "

He sucked his teeth once, looking up at the rafters. Honesty was necessary, even with one's self and one's own failings, "I should do less, probably. Or actually keep a schedule. I forget even when I try that, though. A secretary, were I actually a teacher, would be a godsend, not just for keeping me on track but for putting up with me. But I can't help it-"

He looked back down to Alex, eyes bright as sun on water, "There's so much to know. I want to learn everything I can. Da Vinci did it. The 'Renaissance Man'. Imagine that sort of fulfillment, that sort of challenge?
Music, Philosophy, Science, Math, Art. All of it. "

The intensity softened, "And Love. If it is permitted. There are many kinds and I haven't given time to discover them. Yes, I am interested. In you. You don't have to answer that right away with your own feelings. You're a quiet, complex, deep seeming guy from the outside looking in. I'd like to get to know you, if you'd open the window to where I'm standing, looking in. Talk. This is a start, maybe. "

"But I would like to court you formally, take you on a date. "

"Manaaaage miiiight be a loose term, " he drew the syllables out in a sing-song while rolling his eyes at himself. Things got along, and got done...just just drove his cousin's efficiency buttons off the wall. It worked out well enough, she pushed all his ethical and moral ones right back. "Saying I don't know my shortcomings?"

He arched an eyebrow over his glasses at Alexander, but the criticism was offered hesitantly enough that he didn't take offense- no facial twitches along where smile lines would some day develop if he ever managed to do it with greater frequency. "The answer is rather simple, actually. I don't have much of a social life. I meet people, yes, since I'm often out and about. No one close though. I don't know if that sounds good or not. "

Probably not. 'I don't have friends' or 'I've been too busy to have friends' made him sound less like he was trying to be a renaissance man and more like he was a total creeper. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, the bridge of it squinching the frames a little. "I do still intend to look it up."

But that meant that the message they held must have something to say about himself or how Alexander felt about him. A clue! Declarations made, though, at least three places suggested themselves to his brain on where dates could be possible. He'd need to do some research on what would be adventurous and hopefully fun for them both. But that wasn't right now either. He carefully slid his pieces back into their place and closed the drawer, indicating a far set of double doors, "That's a second set of stairs. We can head up to the labs on the ground and upper floors?"

Which were equally mixed organization and years of use dingy. The painting labs were mostly set up for oils or standing- a favorite of teachers to keep students awake and force the issue of using the full arm and not just the wrist for strokes. There were a handful of in progress pieces set up, open drawers of the school's knives and brushes near to indicate that these were ongoing and likely to be returned to once the heat of the day was done. Quenton crossed the floor again to one of the wooden, grey modelling stands and hopped up onto it. "Want to give a couple gestures a try?"