papier-mache wave. I found where he had left room for me to go under and come up through the opening.
At first, I felt a bit silly, but I did it.
"Okay," he said and stepped away from his
table. "Okay." He nodded, stared, thought, walked
about and then nodded again. "Okay, this is going to
be a bit tricky, but don't worry. We'll get it right. Go
back down and come up very, very slowly. I just want
to see the top of your head at first."
I did as he asked.
"Stop," he said when my head was visible. Very slowly now, keep coming up, yes, slower,
stop. Perfect. Is that very uncomfortable for you?" "Yes," I admitted.
He thought a moment and then moved quickly
to the settee. He gathered up the big cushions and
brought them behind the paper wave.
"Hold that position until I stuff these pillows
under you," he said. "Okay, you can sit there." He ran around to the front again.
"That'll work for a while," he said. "Come on
out and I'll explain it to you in more detail," he said. I wriggled out of the wave and took my place
beside him. He had already drawn a sketch of the
wave, but had left the middle undone, waiting for me. "It's hard to think of a picture, a painting, a sculpture as having movement, but this is what I have to capture here because the movement is your development, your emergence from the sea into this beautiful young woman. Your body will first appear liquid, flowing, but it will start to emerge separate from the
wave."
I nodded, although I wasn't sure I really understood.
"Now," he said, pausing and turning to me,
"you wouldn't emerge dressed in a sweatshirt and a
pair of jeans. Do you understand what I'm trying to
say?"
My pulse began to throb, my heart racing at the
thought of what he was alluding to. The idea of
standing naked before Kenneth, whether he was my
father or not, made me queasy.