Chapter 123
The two girls were so frightened they fell silent. Emma’s expression remained unchanged as she retrieved her painting tools. The drawing tools and paper had been prepared beforehand by the summer camp; with Marsh’s assistance, there would be no problems. Emma effortlessly took out her color palette and dipped her brushes in water, completing the task in a single fluid motion. Those watching, anticipating her failure, immediately recognized her professionalism in her skilled movements.
As the students began drawing, Marsh announced, “The subject matter is unrestricted. However… your works will be sent directly to the Troln City Cultural Museum for this year’s Cultural Convention exhibition!” A ripple of apprehension swept through the students. The Troln City Cultural Museum was the most prestigious exhibition hall for painting and calligraphy; a poorly executed piece would be incredibly embarrassing. Everyone worked diligently.
Emma chose a landscape, believing it best suited to produce a stunning piece within the time constraints. Seated in the front row, her progress was easily visible to those behind. She depicted a distant mountain at dusk: the green hills were suffused with the hues of twilight; a river cascaded down the mountain, feeding several cool, clear ponds nestled on the slopes; wisps of mist lent the mountain a purplish hue. Any connoisseur of painting would have been profoundly impressed by her work.
When Marsh observed Emma's painting, he nodded approvingly. "The brushwork is sophisticated and profound, simply refreshing and immersive!" His praise immediately increased the pressure on the surrounding students. Emma smiled politely. "You flatter me."
Marsh chuckled. "Young lady, your composure is admirable. That's why you can paint such an elegant scene. Good, very good!" His impression of Emma soared. He mused, No wonder Mr. Quinn specifically instructed me to watch this girl. She is indeed a painting genius. However, Emma hadn't used her full potential, fearing exposure. Employing only seventy percent of her skill was sufficient to astound these students—a sure win, yet understated.
Whether Marsh's praise had unduly pressured the others remained unknown. Just as he moved to the back row, turning his back on Emma, a splatter of watery, earthen-yellow paint landed on her painting. Emma's face darkened instantly at the sight of the unsightly blemish; her hand froze mid-stroke. The simple, elegant ink painting was ruined.
"Who did this?" Marsh exploded in anger upon witnessing the act. Emma’s expression mirrored his fury. It was clearly deliberate, a calculated attempt to sabotage her work just before completion.
The classroom fell silent.
"No one wishes to confess?" Marsh declared. "Then I will fail you all!"
Panic rippled through the students. "I saw it! It was Garfield Perkins!" one student exclaimed. Another chimed in, "Yes, it was Garfield's pen."
Garfield sat diagonally behind Emma, and coincidentally, his pen bore the same earthen-yellow paint.
"I didn't do it on purpose, Mr. Hanson!" Garfield protested, gritting his teeth. His father's illness and financial struggles weighed heavily on him; he desperately needed to graduate early. Failure to achieve outstanding camper status meant dropping out next semester. He had been confident in winning the art competition until he saw Emma's painting, shattering his last hope. Desperation drove him to sabotage her work.
"Mr. Hanson, I truly didn't mean to… perhaps Emma could be given time to redo it?" Garfield pleaded, acutely aware of the severity of his actions.
"Idiot!" Marsh's chest heaved with rage. "Do you understand the effort and emotion poured into a masterpiece? Emma's painting was exceptional; it cannot be replicated simply by extending the time!" Furthermore, the competition forbade extra time. Garfield's actions were clearly intended to ruin Emma's grade. Pointing a finger at Garfield, Marsh declared, "Character matters most in our assessment. You showed no respect for art! You are disqualified."
Garfield stood frozen, stunned. Emma reflected, Mr. Quinn did advise me to deal with unfair competition ruthlessly.
As a tearful Garfield was dismissed, Marsh approached Emma. "Time is short. I'll try to get the camp to extend your time, but I can't guarantee success." Emma knew an extension was highly improbable. "It's alright. I'll simply paint another," she replied calmly.
"Another?" Marsh asked, surprised.
Emma's expression remained serene as she unfolded a new canvas. This time, she chose oil painting. Marsh was taken aback; he hadn't expected this. Other candidates, with ample time, had painted portraits or still lifes. Emma, however, lacked that luxury. She had intended to hold back, but now, it was too late. The destruction of her previous work ignited a surge of anger within her.
She dipped her brush in black paint, then swiftly executed a series of bold vertical and horizontal strokes. The lines were forceful and precise, conveying her anger, seemingly penetrating the canvas itself. She gave it her all. Marsh watched, dumbfounded.
Emma quickly rinsed her brush, selecting a new color. She then painted vibrant squares of various hues: bright red, scarlet, blood red; then shifting to black, ink black, scarlet black… The squares seemed to jump, varying in size and staggered across the canvas. It lacked a strong three-dimensional focus, leaning towards abstraction. Toward the end, pressed for time, she used colored tape instead of paint, adhering it to the colored blocks. The bell rang as she finished.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Countless eyes in the examination hall had followed her progress. After witnessing the breathtaking ink painting, everyone felt a surge of anticipation. However, the sight of the colorful squares and black lines elicited laughter.
"What in the world is this? It looks like something I'd paint in kindergarten," one student scoffed.
"Emma, did you give up? Why did you draw such rubbish?" another jeered.
"She thinks she's a master? It's just trash…" another student added.
Amidst the derisive laughter, only Marsh's expression grew increasingly serious. "This is…" he murmured.