Rebel Sisters by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Read Free Book Online Page B

Art.

Chapter 10
Grace
    GRACE CAREFULLY CONSIDERED the old man in his shirt and cloth cap posing before them on a chair in the college’s largest first-floor art room, which caught the afternoon light. Today, instead of charcoal, she was using her soft-leaded pencil as she began to sketch him, shading his lined face and careworn eyes carefully, noting his work-worn hands, biting her lips as she tried to concentrate. William Orpen was taking them for life drawing again.
    As they drew, Orpen often went around checking their work and giving his opinion. Some of her fellow students found him too direct but she valued his comments, be they good or bad.
    Finishing quickly, Grace couldn’t resist sketching Orpen himself. A small, dark-haired man with strong features, he had a maturity beyond his years. He always looked very dapper in his expensive suits and shirts, with a cigarette in his hand. His classes were far more relaxed than those of other teachers, as he did not insist on silence and usually, as he smoked himself, he permitted his students to smoke too.
    Orpen came over to study her pencil portrait of the old man and nodded approvingly, pointing out how well she had drawn his hands. Grace held her breath as Orpen suddenly turned over the pages of her sketchbook to look at the rest of her work. Embarrassed, she blushed as he studied the caricature of himself, cigarette in hand in front of an easel, that appeared on the next page.
    â€˜So, Miss Gifford, that’s what I look like!’ He laughed.
    â€˜I like doing caricatures,’ she admitted nervously. ‘It’s only a bit of fun.’
    â€˜That depends on who is the subject,’ he teased, ‘and how well they respond to your wit!’
    Grace had no idea what to say.
    He took the pad and went through it, flicking over page after page. Most of their lecturers and tutors were there, faces elongated, noses enlarged, scrawny limbs now like sticks. There were also some of her friends.
    Orpen laughed loudly on discovering a sketch she had made of William Butler Yeats.
    â€˜You are a very talented young woman, Miss Gifford, with a rare gift for caricature.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    She valued Orpen’s opinion. She was in her third year now and was like a sponge, absorbing what she could from him and his way of working. While some in the class felt afraid of and slightly intimidated by him, strangely she didn’t.
    â€˜Ladies, next week we will be drawing a female nude,’ he informed them. ‘One of my beautiful young models from London is prepared to come over to Dublin to pose for us, so please ensure that you do not miss the classes.’
    Everyone clapped and Grace smiled, knowing full well no one would dare miss it.
    She had agreed to stay behind after class today, as Orpen wanted to do some sketches of her. He had asked to draw her a few times and, as she posed, she loved watching him work, seeing how a few simple lines built up to become a proper portrait. She couldn’t believe how quickly he worked and how well he captured her features. She sat quietly as the others filed out of the studio and he beckoned for her to sit where the model previously had. Grace felt embarrassed as some of her fellow students lingered to watch her.
    â€˜Don’t mind them,’ he urged, concentrating hard as Grace tried to keep still. Her tawny hair fell in front of her face and she gently pushed it back off her shoulder.
    â€˜You have wonderful hair, Miss Gifford.’
    â€˜My sisters and I hate it,’ she confessed. ‘We were constantly teased about being carrot-heads when we were young.’
    â€˜My wife was the same,’ he said, coming over to fix her hair slightly, ‘but I have always found this colour most agreeable and attractive. My daughter Kit fortunately has inherited her mother’s colouring.’
    Grace was pleased with the compliment and held her gaze steady as he worked.
    â€˜Now