Harmony

I moved quietly in the background, a challenge in a crowd of whites my black skin stood out.
The painter called for me again, young woman he addressed. He was the first to ever do so, most call out "girl". My name was of no significance to them. I am a servant. He asked me to arrange flowers as he set up his paints. The first time he asked me to model and touch such elegance and beauty I was afraid. Blacks were shadows of their masters not people to be painted and admired like all of his art. He was educated and from an outstanding family background. A medical man. People flock to his art studio. Everyone was a plant and needed the love of his sun rays. I couldn't believe such a wondrous human being would be taken with little old me.
"You fit with these peonies so lovely. Might you grant me permission to paint you again?" He asked as if I could deny him, it was nice nevertheless. I discovered he had titled the first painting 'young woman.' It made me giddy as a child to be treated with such warmth and respect.
I took my time with the flowers not wanting to part from them or him.
White, pink, deep pink and red peonies laid on the wooden table. Several times now I have changed my mind. There was too much pink in my first arrangement. It reminded me of parties where I served in all white spaces. No matter how invisible I tried to be, men would gather toward me. Ladies would taunt and belittle in fits of jealousy over being discarded for another woman, a black servant. I snatched all the pink flowers from their vase and placed them on the table and started anew. Nothing that invoked those horrid memories. Here, I was asked to be a part of something eternal. A painting that would last and be seen by all. I was someone who was more than just a black servant on his canvas.
I concentrated so hard on my peonies I forgot the artist was working until he coughed. He chuckled when I jumped.
"This is great. Most people are awkward around me. They focus so much on my painting it's hard for them to be natural."
I wanted to smile, but I didn't. There were too many ways it could go wrong. He offered me one and there was an understanding behind it that I appreciated.
The vase was empty for the fourth time today. My third attempt had shaken me. All the colourful flowers were on the table and the vase was filled with white peonies. The deep red peonies with hints of pink were my favourite. How did I manage not to include them in my arrangement? The white peonies were gorgeous, they weren't the only ones anyone could see their beauty. Why had the others been left out? How could I? Shame washed over me. My subconscious treated these peonies how others have treated me. I took another look. The deep red and pink peony is me. It is the only one of its kind. The others are all pale and deep pink, no dark red with hints of pink.
I took all the white peonies out and made an effort to include all of the different types of flowers and colours of peonies. I make sure to place a blue flower in the vase to get it right this time.
I've done it, created the perfect arrangement.
"The pale pink peonies should be in the front. They'll make the arrangement feel more airy and bright. Should I be your model?"
A striking blonde entered the art studio. The painter didn't look up from his work. I took the deep red peony out of the vase and put it on the table. I'm not one to rebel against whites. Maybe it was the artist ignoring her that made me bold. I took a deeper pink peony and placed it right next to the pale one. Adding another light flower I placed a darker one.
The painter snickered. I felt her eyes on me. I did not bait her.
"Those are too rich a colour, remove them."
"I've asked her to arrange these flowers. Don't distract her with your mindless banter. You'll ruin my work."
I grabbed a yellow flower and kept my eyes trained on my new arrangement. It was too bad whites felt superior to us. These flowers looked even better together.