Justine by Kerri A.; Iben; Pierce Mondrup Page B

suddenly my hands reached out and stroked up Randi’s body to reach the domes from below. They were firm, they were yielding, they were heavy, they were warm. The face over the breasts became white, white turning red. Then Randi ripped her breasts from my hands and said goodbye and good night.
    â€œWhy should you stand there groping her breasts?” Ane asked after the door had been slammed. “You think they’re disgusting, right.”
    â€œThey were enormous,” I said. “They were simply enormous. They were pure art.”

N ot too long after the dinner with Randi, Ane returned giddy from a weekend trip to London. They’d been traveling together, they’d visited boutiques and cafes, “and Randi has got us an exhibit at her clinic’s art society,” she said.
    It had been a long time since Ane had exhibited anything, and she thought it might be fun to do a small show with some drawings or paintings at Randi’s workplace.
    â€œIt’s an art society, Ane,” I said.
    â€œYeah, so what?” she asked.
    â€œSo it’s not serious, that’s all.”
    â€œI’m well aware of that,” said Ane. “But if we get to paint some paintings and we make a little money in the process, who cares?”
    â€œI’m not a painter.”
    â€œSo? You’ll paint anyway. You probably learned loads of stuff from your grandfather.”
    â€œBut has Randi seen any of your paintings?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen how does she know that they’d like to hang them?”
    â€œCome on, Justine, let’s just do it for shits and grins. Let’s make some money for once?” Ane said.
    I said: “Yes. Yes, let’s do it. Let’s have some fun.” I’d also like to be close to Grandpa, after all. Or what was left of him.

A round the same time, Vita was working on a monument to a dead physicist. Her idea was to give his groundbreaking theories three dimensional form, so they’d unfold and intertwine into a single mirror-smooth object. In addition to that project she’d received another commission, a decoration for the Holmen Operahuset.
    â€œHow great that we’re both so busy,” she said. “Shouldn’t you figure out what you’re doing for your X-Room exhibition soon?”
    â€œIt’s fine,” I said. “I have all the time I’ll need.”
    Vita continued working on her drawing; she looked like cells in a state of controlled reproduction.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “shouldn’t you just keep working with that sculptural idea? You have such a refined spatial sense. I still kick myself for not buying your ice floes that time. But I just didn’t know where I was going to put them.”
    â€œI didn’t have the space either. That’s why I gave them away.”
    â€œSo you’ve said.”
    â€œThey look good where they’re at now.”
    â€œYou could just give it a try, you know,” she said. “You could always go back to what you usually do after that. No one is saying you have to do sculpture all the time.”
    â€œI’d rather do this,” I said. “I have an idea for something I want to try out.”
    Suddenly, I was extremely grateful to Ane for coming with Randi’s offer.

W e decided we’d paint together out in the garden and not spend a krone on supplies. We still had Grandpa’s big box of colors, after all. Some of the tubes were dried out, but most were usable as they lay in rainbow array with Grandpa’s large fingerprints on the lids and labels. We also found his old pallet hiding behind a bookcase. Ane used a glass scraper to get the paint off. She was wearing one of the smocks that could still close around her belly. As she sweated the paint flew like bits of lint around her.
    We painted and painted. Ane painted still lifes and the organisms leaped from the canvas. She found