Three Little Words

I started reading up on Japanese architecture and soon became fascinated by what they did with wood and laminates, which dovetailed nicely (pun intended) with one of my other classes, Structures in Wood and Steel. I started my project with a thoroughly traditional design along the lines of a Buddhist temple, but Christy took one look at my sketches, shook her head, and suggested something different.

“You aren’t Japanese,” she said. “Just like you aren’t Frank Lloyd Wright or Eero Saarinen. That’s what Siobhan tells me all the time: I’m not Bernini or Canova. ‘Don’t do what they did,’ she says. ‘Be inspired by their work, but

create your own style.’ It’s good advice.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What do you suggest?”

“Something modern and airy, like your museum, but with a Japanese feel.

Here, let me have your pencil.”

I handed it over, grabbed another from the cup on my new drafting table, and moved aside to let her draw.

Christy started with a version of the Daibutsu statue from the Kōtoku-in Temple in Kamakura. Sayuri and her family had visited it when she was a girl, and she had more than a dozen snapshots in one of her albums.

I moved behind Christy and leaned over her shoulder. She smiled, kissed my cheek, and returned her attention to her work. I sketched around her as she added details to the statue. She offered comments as I outlined the building and added design elements.

“Make sure you curve the roof,” she added. “It’s a Buddhist thing. Evil spirits can only move in straight lines.”

“Got it.”

We worked together for several hours before a sound at the door broke our concentration.

“I brought you dinner,” Wren said. “I kept it warm as long as I could, but when it was clear you weren’t coming down…”

I looked at my watch and realized it was after ten o’clock. “Sorry, I guess we were in our own little world.”

“You were cute,” she said, “standing together as you drew.” She shook her head in amazement. “I wish I had a tenth of the talent either of you have.

I’d be set for life. You make it look so easy.”

“If people knew how hard we work, it wouldn’t seem so easy at all.”

“You can say that again,” Christy agreed tiredly. Then she grinned at me.

“Now you see why I forget to eat sometimes?”

“Oh, brother.” Wren set the tray on the unoccupied drafting stool. “Trip and I’ve had a long day, so we’re going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I teased, “we won’t.”

She rolled her eyes but gave Christy a friendly kiss on the cheek. Then she stood on tiptoe and did the same to me. She left with a wave.

Christy and I tore the foil off the plates and dug in.

“I think I have a pretty good idea how to finish the building,” I said when I finally came up for air. “The interior needs to be open. I like those sliding panels that redefine the space—”

“Fusuma,” she said.

“—but I think they need to be wood instead of cloth. And the translucent paneled doors—”

“Shōji.”

“—need to be glass instead of paper. Still translucent, but they’ll have a modern look and better acoustic properties.”

She grinned.

“What?”

“I love watching you design.”

“And I love doing it with you.”

“We’re still talking about architecture, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Miss Sex Kitten.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “You make me all tingly when you’re creative like that.”

“Well, I’m creative ’cause of you. My first design was crap. This new one is all you. You’re my muse.”

“I may be the spark, but you’re the inferno. See? I told you, I’m always paying attention.”

“You are.”

Her expression fell. “Only, I wish I could come up with brilliant ideas for my own project.”

“All right,” I said slowly. “Let’s talk. What’re you thinking?”

“Something feminine this time. And I want to do a series.”

“You mentioned Canova earlier. Why not do something like his Pauline Bonaparte.”

“She’s the one on the couch, right?”

“Right. And she’s actually called Venus Victrix.”

“Like the Venus of Urbino?”

“Titian. Yep. Same idea. Giorgione did an earlier version, and Manet did a later one with Olympia. It’s a classic pose.”

“How do you know all this stuff? It’s my specialty and you know it better.”

“I know it. You can do it. There’s a difference. I couldn’t paint or sculpt a Venus if my life depended on it. But you… you can do both. Beautifully.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay, so let’s think about something you can make your own. How about something Japanese to go with my design? Maybe the Venus of

Kanagawa?”

“Like Kanagawa-oki nami ura.”

“Um… I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s ‘under a wave off Kanagawa,’” she explained.

“Oh, I know that one. Hold on…” I snapped my fingers. “The big wave by Hokusai? It’s a woodblock print, isn’t it?”

“Ukiyo-e, yes.”

I tried saying it and mangled it horribly. Languages weren’t my forte.

Christy’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “I finally found something you aren’t good at.”

“I’m not good at lots of things. So let’s get back to something I am good at, art history.”

“Where we first met.”