might be interested in spending time, you seemed to be looking for a way out.”
Mbali could have kicked herself. She had given the man mixed signals, for sure. She tried to make her smile look convincing and said, “Well, we can relax now, knowing our wires are no longer crossed. We’re working on getting to know each other. Deal?”
Certainly she felt more and more relaxed around Sipho. Fleetingly, she realised he hadn’t answered her question about his love life. She really wanted to know, but how to probe more now?
“Deal.” Sipho stopped in the act of raising his glass to seal their agreement. “Hold on a second, I should probably return your unsubtle query of earlier. I don’t see a ring on your finger, but that doesn’t mean there’s no Romeo calling your name from beneath your balcony. I seem to recall you being in a pretty serious relationship.”
This was treacherous territory, and Mbali had absolutely no desire to go there. There really was no need to start bringing up the past while she was on a nice date – and anyway, there really was nothing to tell. No need to bore the man with details, so she just smiled and chose the simplest answer.
“Ja, but you know, all good things come to an end. We parted ways.”
For a moment it looked as if Sipho might probe further, but then he completed the interrupted act of raising his glass.
“All right, then. Now it’s a deal.”
The waiter arrived with their food and they settled down to eating. Mbali told Sipho about the recent successful showing of her paintings in an exclusive Cape Town gallery and the interest a curator based in New York showed in her work.
“I called it ‘Downtown-scapes at Dawn’. I wanted to do something really gritty and expose the heart of places I’ve been to here in Mzansi, but mostly Jozi. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done; it took me almost seven years to get the material together.”
Sipho gave her a questioning look and she nodded. “Ja, even back then I was thinking about it; taking photos, sketching, going for lessons, all the time just thinking about it.”
“I noticed all the sketches around your flat, but I didn’t see any paintings,” Sipho commented, recalling the various sketches on the walls, some framed and hung strategically, others just stuck up with Prestik or fridge magnets, some in vivid colour and others in black and brown charcoal – portraits, landscapes, observations, full compositions and abstract renderings.
She nodded. “You might have noticed that I don’t have many photographs either. All those sketches are interpretations of my strongest memories. I know it sounds a little weird and crazy, but they challenge me. I do my real work in the space above my parents’ garage. That’s my studio, and all my paintings are there. It works out perfectly; I keep an eye on the place while they’re overseas and it forces me to get up and go to work every day, which keeps me sane.”
When Sipho nodded as if he completely understood where she was coming from, she added, “I’m not one of those artists who forget to eat and bath and all that. I’m so compartmentalised that I sometimes feel like a fraud.”
“Nonsense,” he assured her without hesitation, giving her hand a squeeze. “There’s no requisite behaviour for creative people. If it works for you, then that’s the way it should be.”
Oh, how perfect can this day be? Mbali asked herself, feeling very smug indeed.
Sipho was very interested in her work; he asked pertinent questions and seemed knowledgeable about the world of art, telling her that he’d recently purchased three pieces by a rising star who, Mbali informed him, had been featured in a couple of high-profile glossies and was showing in some very prestigious international galleries.
He asked her to tell him more about her career, and she modestly continued. “I’m starting to get noticed now, but it hasn’t been an easy road. This New York thing – if I get it – is a really big deal. It’s an exhibition of promising young visual artists from around the world, plus there’s a chance of quite a big prize and a three-month residency at a very prestigious art institution.”
Sipho was quick to assure Mbali that he had complete faith in her, and she felt flattered.
“Oh God, I’m praying it happens. I mean, I sometimes question my process. My passion is canvas and oils, but I find myself doing a lot of commercial work in order to pay bills. I feel that maybe I’m starving my true calling and keeping it in check by worrying about bread and butter. Maybe if I just cared about the art and wasn’t concerned with other things, I’d have made more progress by now. I think my sense of discipline is holding back my true potential.”
Sipho took this in quietly for a moment before nodding thoughtfully.
“I always found it interesting that you studied economics and did so well, considering your interests clearly lay elsewhere.”
“Ja well, you know how it is. I chose economics to appease my parents, but behind the scenes I was serious about art. First chance I got, I segued into fine art. How’s that for mixing things up?”
Mbali smiled, but it had been quite a battle, and even now her parents still tried to talk “sense” into her. Thank goodness the diplomatic service had seen fit to station them in Australia. She loved her parents and was grateful for the life they had provided – although somewhat nomadic – but their ambitions for her and her sister were a product of their own desires and actually had nothing to do with who the two of them were as people.
Khuli had at least managed to keep them happy by getting married and presenting them with grandchildren, but just to ensure her peace, she and her family had ensconced themselves deep in the wilds of the Ukhahlamba Drakensberg Park, where Khuli’s husband was a wildlife ranger and veterinarian.
This had thoroughly stumped their parents, who were desperate for every opportunity they were granted to see their grandchildren, and unfortunately it had cast the spotlight on Mbali and her “hobby”, as her father called it.
“Ja, that’s parents for you,” Sipho mused. “Lucky for me, I’m just a boring old financial consultant, a career that’s acceptable to parents everywhere, including my own. But you know, it takes a special kind of person to choose the path less travelled and stick to it, so you should be proud of yourself.”
Mbali’s smile came right from the bottom of her feet. He didn’t know it yet, but Sipho had just sealed the deal. This was university all over again, and this time she had gathered her wits.
East London, watch out! Mbali’s on her way.
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