Work Text:
Unit 3, Weekly Assignment #12. (Extra credit opportunity!)
Identify three locally showcased pieces by title, artist, and medium. Write an essay comparing and analyzing them. Pretend you are an arts historian in the future. What would you speculate the artist's inspirations to be? If possible, research the artist's background. Do you think 'art' can be taught? Why or why not?
Cold, not too brisk, just a little windy, with a puffy white sky that glows and hangs heavy over the buildings, the pier. Iris wears hoodies and sweatshirts year-round, so it's nice to see her not suffocating in the heat for once.
It's only extra credit to physically go to the museum, but Jiao always takes extra credit opportunities, and Iris will take any excuse to get out of the house on a Saturday.
The very first time they'd gone on an outing together into downtown Vancouver, just the two of them, Jiao had made the mistake of overfamiliarity. Classes were cancelled that day. Let's go on a walk. Even though it was wet and crowded, Iris didn't want to linger at home.
Perhaps it was also an act of generosity for her to bring Jiao to her favorite music stores— neither of them had much in the way of spending money, but it was fun to look at expensive preserved vinyls and restored posters from groups that haven't toured in decades, even if the dingy atmosphere started to give Jiao a headache.
During that outing, so that they could weave the congested sidewalks together, Jiao had reached out and innocently taken Iris's hand. It was an action small enough that even she'd forgotten about it as soon as it was done, warm and clammy with the refreshing breeze sifting between the gaps in their palms.
Iris didn't comment on it at the time.
Later, when they'd come across a boy from one of their morning classes— Jiao had yet to learn his name yet, but recognized him by his handsome nose— Iris had swiped her hand back into her sweatshirt pocket and didn't remove it, even after they'd parted ways with Handsome Nose.
It was a little disappointing, but perhaps Iris had a crush on Handsome Nose, Jiao rationalized. Crushes make girls and boys act quite silly. No one's ever had a crush on Jiao.
And today, Jiao's hands swing freely by her sides.
Compared to then, the businesses downtown are changing; a new bakery has opened up, an old uniform store is shutting its doors next week. Jiao has a little bit of pocket money this time. On the street, a pop-up stand selling crystal-like bottles of honey, jams, and artisanal coffee sweeteners stands where the old busker used to play drums. Iris's steps slow but she continues walking past, and Jiao can't help but be allured by the pretty bottles.
The crinkle of the little paper bag tucked under Jiao's arm as she catches up with a waiting Iris is as light as the smile on her face. "My mom will love this," she says, shuffling to make room in her bag. "She always adds honey in her morning tea."
"Yeah?" Iris drags her feet; her new shoes are already wearing down at the heel. "I've never tried that. My mom always puts this no-calorie poison in hers. The pink packets."
"Oh, nooo! Clara, that's bad for you."
"Right?"
The museum is twenty-eight minutes away by bus.
Iris leads Jiao most of the way to the back, where less seats are full, and scoots into the window seat with her bag on her lap. Within minutes, she's on her phone, and Jiao watches the passing buildings from over her hair.
A bustling restaurant with empty outdoor tables.
"You don't have to stare at me," Iris suggests, pulling her headphones over her ears.
"Sorry."
How rude.
The other day, while Jiao was staring out of another window in class, she overheard Handsome Nose complaining while Iris was in the bathroom down the hall. The homework is such bees, he'd said. Everything's online. They literally have an article about it on their website. You can just skim it and paraphrase. She's not gonna check it.
Just skim it. Jiao isn't sure the meaning of 'skim' in this context, but 'just skim it' carries with it a sort of flippance— a carefree approach, a quick job. He's having an easy time with his homework.
Paraphrase. A lot of their classmates use that word when they talk about cheating. Why would he cheat at something he thinks is easy? Handsome Nose would make such a poor boyfriend for Iris if all he can do in school is cheat.
Bees. This homework is such bees. Now that's new for Jiao.
The homework is such… honeybees. Honeybees are busy, communal, uniform, cute. Busy bee as an idiom greatly endears her— busy bee, busy bumblebee. It makes her feel better about the late nights she spends doing homework, practicing English, helping her mom around the house, waiting for Iris to text her back. She's not worried or tired. She's just a busy bumblebee.
Is that why Handsome Nose said the homework was bees? Because it makes him feel busy? How can something so easy, so worthy of cheating, make him feel busy?! This can't be right. Oh, Jiao wants to ask Iris so badly.
The bus stops at the depot, but Iris doesn't alert Jiao to get off, so she remains comfortable in her seat and crosses her ankles. The jar of raw honey in her bag, milky and white, is decorated with brown paper and red lettering, with little drawings of beautiful bees all over it.
Several people board the bus, filling even the back seats. A beautiful girl in the seat across the aisle from them is touting a maroon backpack with a honeycomb pattern! What are the chances?
Jiao is starting to feel a little foolish for thinking so hard about bees.
There's little else to do. It's noisier now, and Jiao stows her honey back in her bag and, as what feels like a last resort, settles with mirroring Iris by looking at her own phone.
Two messages from mom. Voice recordings— Jiao doesn't have headphones, so she'll listen to them when they get off the bus.
A calendar reminder about the bee homework. She'll clear it when she's done skimming.
Emails, weather, updates.
I'm just saying, if you want to get better at English, you need to get rid of your crutches.
Every now and then, Jiao remembers that stupid argument— over something as inconsequential as the language settings on her own phone— and comes up with a different, clever response in her head.
Iris, I'm trying.
You can do what you want with your phone, and I can do what I want with mine.
This is familiar to me. Why does that bother you?
I like having crutches.
They all differ from the real response she'd given, which she hardly even remembers. For a few days, Jiao had changed her phone to English, hoping Iris would notice again, hoping to impress her. That magical moment never came— perhaps Iris never cared about the language of her phone after all, and the comment was just convenient to make.
Now, Jiao's phone is in Mandarin again. It's familiar. It's what she wants. It's a crutch.
Jiao navigates to her phone's settings.
Why does this matter so much to her?
英语
The only person in the world she hates more than Iris is herself.
Chinese (Simplified)
And the more she hates Iris, the more she wants to forgive her.
The beautiful girl sitting across from them is on her phone, too. Jiao isn't trying to be nosy, but she can see her screen quite clearly— makeup videos, product demonstrations. Fun, harmless things. She stops every few videos to pull up what Jiao recognizes as the share menu and taps several pictures of whom she can safely assume are her friends. Buzz buzz. Her phone is being a bee, too— she must be popular. A girl that effortlessly pretty and popular— that's the Queen Bee archetype. Iris hates girls like that, but Queen Bee's friends must really like her.
Iris, of course, is ignoring them both. Her face is soft in her reflection, and Jiao boldly steals an actual look at her, this time.
The more Iris hates her, the more Jiao needs her forgiveness.
Jiao scrolls through her own phone furiously. Iris's social media accounts are generally empty with short bursts of activity every few months, and she certainly doesn't sign in to check her direct messages, so Jiao has instead made a habit of saving everything and showing them to her in person. That way, she'll see it for sure!
The bus rumbles over a pothole. Tiny spots of light filter through the trees decorate their bags, the scratchy fabric of Jiao's brand new skirt, pleated and smoothed carefully over her lap, tickled by the tiny phone charm swaying between her fingers— still pristine, the tiny woven cord is spotless. She cups it in her hand and tucks it close to her case.
Two police officers chat by their motorcycles on a corner; a little girl holds her mom's hand, reaching towards another woman's leashed yellow dog.
In the same moment, Iris pulls her phone out again and skips through songs on her playlist. That's Jiao's chance.
"Iris," she whispers, tilting her phone her way. A short video of a little cat attempting to make a lengthy jump from a bed to a table starts to play, but when Jiao checks, Iris only looks over after the poor little thing vanishes out of frame. Idiot! She rewinds it in a hurry, and the kitten jumps again.
"Aw," Iris murmurs, looking back at her phone.
"I can't stop watching it," Jiao gushes, "Every time, I hope the cat will succeed!"
"Ha. Not how that works."
"I know."
Another specimen; a captioned video of a woman speaking quickly into her camera.
Iris remains unmoved through the first loop of the video. Jiao waits expectantly, and then she taps around the timeline— just to be sure she'd shown her the right one.
"… Wow."
Dry, unmoved. Jiao realizes that the automatic captions…
"Oh, I'm sorry," she swipes the photo away, "Don't worry about it. It's not really funny, anyway."
"Huh? No, it's—" Iris stammers, frowning, "I can read it. Let me see it again."
"I'll translate—"
"Just show it to me again, please?"
It wouldn't be hard to just adjust the caption settings to English, but a brief pulse of power lights up her chest. She holds her phone steady, tilting it Iris's way.
Concentrating: Iris on the picture, Jiao on Iris.
Recognition: Clara has complained about Iris's poor grasp on reading hanzi, and Jiao wonders whether or not she should be proud of her effort or remorseful for making her try.
Reflection: Maybe this is what Jiao looks like— determined, frustrated, lost. Maybe Iris deserves a taste of her own medicine, to walk without crutches, to read with bees. Maybe Jiao can make an example of this, giving Iris time to read her words slowly like a child.
She's horribly pretty like this.
The beautiful Queen Bee sitting across from them is also pretty, and she's tall, too, with long dark hair behind her shoulders and clear skin.
"Excuse me…"
A gentle hand brushes Jiao's shoulder, but she still nearly whips around, clutching her bag and getting her growing bangs in her eyes. Queen Bee, with her honeycomb backpack from before— she's looking at her, albeit a little bashfully, with her pretty hand withdrawn halfway.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" she says. "Are you okay?"
Jiao nods violently. Dainty little gold-colored rings and glossy maroon nails— this girl is so put together. She's so…
"Sorryyyyy. I don't mean to interrupt you guys. I just wanted to say that I really like your phone charm!"
Startled, Jiao stares at her— but before she can put the words in order in her head, Iris's smooth, cool voice is hushed against her ear. "Phone charm, your phone charm...! Your charm on your phone—"
Shut up!
"Oh! Thank you!" Jiao squeaks.
"Where did you get it?"
"It's from… my country. Overseas. I mean, Hong Kong. It's from Hong Kong. My best friend gave it to me."
"That's so cute!"
Queen Bee meets Iris's stare and doesn't drop her smile— she probably thinks that the best friend is her. And, well, Iris is her best friend now, and she is technically from Hong Kong…
When Jiao glances back at her, in Iris's place is a small, stunned, flushed girl, wearing the face that girls from mediocre dramas make when they have a crush, but not a face Iris had ever made towards Handsome Nose.
Did Jiao say something wrong?
"Hey," Iris stammers. "I've been meaning to tell you that I love your bag. I've always wanted…"
And just like that, Jiao is stuck in the middle while two pretty girls converse in fast English slang on either side of her, about brands and online shopping and, oh, Iris is lowering her headphones so that they hang around her neck.
Was Queen Bee mocking her? Cute, sweet, honey. If others could see the dark, sticky tar in Jiao's ribs, they wouldn't call it something nice like honey. In Hong Kong, Jiao felt like a young woman— independent, social, sweet and golden. She felt cute, but she felt…
That's so cute! Maybe that is just code for sarcasm, code that Iris is fluent in. Code that Jiao needs to grasp without crutches.
Her head rumbles against the back of her seat.
Perhaps, silently, they were both expecting to actually see some of their classmates at some point on this trip, but even at the museum, after showing their student badges to the attendant at the front desk, it has become clear that no one else cares for extra credit in an art class. No one except for Iris, maybe. Somehow, despite possessing actual talent, she needs it. At least she isn't skimming like Handsome Nose, whatever the hell that meant.
Notebooks under their arms, Iris and Jiao find their way to the quiet, empty exhibits on the second floor. An artist specializing in hand-painting geometric patterns with nearly a computer's accuracy has a residency in one of the large nooks, and her pieces are large, shiny, and dizzying.
Iris hovers in front of a wide piece
Solemnly, Jiao stares at the same canvas. Waiting for the profundity to wash over her. Waiting for Meaning.
"This is such bees," she whispers.
After a moment, Iris glances her way. "What?"