2019-09-12 - Art and Artistry

Sunday mornings at Espresso Yourself are always busy. Della is on duty as the day manager, and Jia, Russ, Laine are working as the baristas for the shift. The college kids aren't keen on waking up early on a weekend morning, but they appreciate the tips that come in with the church crowds.

The owner, Eleanor Lake, is here as well, fresh out of morning church service at St. Mary's. With all the crazy that happens in this town, she makes the effort to get to mass once a week, just in case religion can afford some modicum of protection from Them. The redhead is in a pretty, pale chartreuse dress, modest for church-going. She sits at a table, working on her laptop, with a coffee and bagel nearby.

Tim steps into the coffee shop, pulls off his sunglasses and stows them. He's new in town; it's clear by how he's dressed like it's cooler than it is. Despite being warm out (per local standards), he's in khakis and a long-sleeved, button down shirt with fine black stripes on pale green, and he's showing no signs of being the least bit warm like this. He also has a leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

He doesn't head right up to the register; instead, he steps aside to make sure he's not blocking the entrance and surveys the coffee shop, taking it in. Yes, definitely new. New enough that when his eyes drift over Eleanor, he double-takes, and they narrow just a fraction. There's no mistaking the sheen of Glimmer on him, though it's not brilliant, just a gentle glow. It's maybe obvious, then, why he's looking at Eleanor like this: he sees hers too.

Long years of paranoid conspiracy stuff still have Eleanor looking up at the sound of the door chimes in the shop. She looks over as Tim comes in, and she can see the soft glow of the man with an unfamiliar face and clear lack of acclimation to the PNW climate. She gives him a faint smile and nod of greeting. "Welcome to Espresso Yourself!" she calls over.

The baristas echo it, with Russ manning the register giving the man a bright smile. The menu is fairly simple, with limited baked goods, because no one wants to compete with the Patisserie not far from there.

"Hey. Thanks." Tim glances away from Eleanor to give the baristas an upnod, back at her, then finally moves to the counter. "Cheese danish and..." He stares at the menu a bit. What does he want? The coffee here should be real, right? Not garbage? Right.

"Grande latte, rice milk if you have it, otherwise whatever is fine." He pushes his cash across the counter, enough for the total and a tip, waves a hand for them to keep the change. Then he moves to the counter to await his drink.

Russ calls back "Rice Milk grande latte! Cheese Danish!" He hums along with the music on the sound system as he takes the cash from Tim. "Want the danish warmed up, man?" the kid asks with a grin, handing over his change.

Eleanor watches, tapping some notes into her laptop. One might bet she has a file on every new face in town who comes through the coffee shop. Those who glimmer, those who don't, those who shine blindingly bright.

Tim dumps the change into the tip jar. "Nah, as-is is fine, thanks though." He shifts so he can watch the baristas work and look for a place to sit. Maybe also contemplate Eleanor.

Definitely the later. But first he takes a break to survey the art in the coffee shop. After a second he says to Eleanor, "Do people mind if artists come in here and sketch them? Or does that get," he makes a face, "complaints? I ask since, some places are cool with it, some don't like it."

Eleanor sips her own coffee and watches the kids get on the order with well-practiced haste. Her business practically runs itself, and she is proud of that. At Tim's question she smiles. "Oh, I'm the owner. I don't mind if you sketch people, provided you ask their permission first. You're an artist then? Student or professional?"

Laine brings the order to the pick up area, and offers it to Tim. "There you go! One rice milk latte and a cheese danish."

Tim accepts the coffee and danish with a, "Thanks," and a small smile, moves to a table near Eleanor. He slides his bag off his shoulder onto one of the two chairs. "Teacher. At the college. I like to keep track of where my students can sketch in public without business owners losing their cool over it." He tilts his head at her. "And it looks like I'm not the only Artist around here." He could easily mean the art hung around the shop; the statement's plain enough. If not for that way he says 'Artist' with a capital A, anyone could think he meant that. Anyone except someone like Eleanor.

Eleanor gets the meaning of his use of Artist. She smiles faintly and taps away at her laptop. Clearly this one is also aware. "Less of an artist and more of a dabbler, really. And a collector of art-related things." She ponders him a moment. "So is the teaching job what brought you to Gray Harbor? Or something else?"

Tim hasn't failed to notice the typing, no he has not. He snorts, takes his seat. "I was visiting my Aunt. University had a spot, I had a need." He shrugs about that, the sort of off-handed shrug of someone who has a job but isn't particularly invested in it. "I can do what I do just about anywhere--but watercolor's a lot easier out here, with the humidity. Was a real bitch down in LA."

He has a sip of his latte. Ah, just right. This place is a keeper. "I see a lot of Artists around here. Lot more than I did in SoCal. Is that a Thing?" He's hedging his bets. What's she going to be willing to tell him? His Aunt warned him some people were much cagier than others, that information gathering would be tricky.

Eleanor tilts her head at him. She's not used to strangers talking so openly about it. He could be an agent of Them, but if so, he's not a strong one. "Gray Harbor seems to draw artists, yes. The good ones, and the not so good ones. You have an interest in them?"

Tim shrugs. "Same way any Artist has an interest in any other Artist, you know? We're all a little different, we all got our own methods. Never know when a sculptor's gonna teach you a trick you can use when you paint, that kind of thing." He gets a look like he's weighing what she's said against things he already knows. He gestures at himself. "Tim, by the way." Quite notably he doesn't offer his hand. He glances around the coffee shop, no doubt seeing that no one else in there, at least for the moment, has that glow. "I assume there's no...Artist Colony? No meeting to join?"

''Eleanor," the red-head replies. She shakes her head a bit. "Not one to speak of. There are people who are more in the know about the Art and various techniques, researcher types. I'm one of them. Were you looking for something in particular? I can possibly direct you to an expert."

"No," Tim says after a second. "Not looking for anyone or any...thing in particular right now." He pulls a tablet out of his bag (a nice, fancy new model), unclips the stylus. "Just getting a feel for everything." And probably collecting a list of names. You know, like she is. And hey, now he has one. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He clicks the tablet on, leans back in his chair. "Nice stuff, by the way," he says, gesturing at the art on the walls. "One of your employees, or did you cut a deal with someone?" A comission deal, he means.

"Oh," Eleanor murmurs, looking around at the art. "I've picked pieces up here and there. Nothing commissioned no. Sometimes I host local artists to hang their stuff up for a week at a time, just to give them some exposure. Maybe your class can participate in that?"

Tim points at Eleanor with his stylus. "My thoughts exactly. I made a deal with a pizza place, the owner was in my class. So he provided us with pizzas in exchange for one piece of art per student that was pizza-related, hung them in his shop. Worked out great. Figure," he looks around, mouth turned down in consideration, "you could get a dozen or so coffee-related drawings or watercolors out of it." He fishes around in his bag, pulls out a business card. It's clean and simple, and entirely unassuming.

Tim Bakshi
Dept of Art & Art History
WSU-Hoquiam
425-555-6643

"Just let me know." Then he takes up his tablet and starts sketching. A warmup sketch, of...his cheese danish.