Joaquin thought this whole art show thing was going to feel great. By all means, he should have felt great. Here he was, just turned twenty-five, and he'd been thrust into the opportunity of a lifetime. One of his students in his after-school painting classes just so happened to have a very well off family, who just so happened to have purchased one of his works and their friend who owned Gallery 1412 just so happened to see it in their living room one day. When Joaquin had answered the phone and found himself talking to someone who wanted to give him an art show, he'd accepted nearly instantly. He'd had a few in the past, mostly in university or small galleries with other artists, but this? Somehow he hadn't managed to ever go to Gallery 1412 since moving to California, and when he came in to talk with the owner about the show, his only thought was that he really needed to buy a suit, and fast- this wasn't exactly a flannel button up and sneakers sort of affair. The entire 'my first solo art show' happy feeling was currently being overwhelmed with a million other worries, and instead, he felt more like he was going to vomit than anything else.
So far Joaquin had found himself standing around rather awkwardly, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do other than talk to anyone who came up to him about his work. Which, after a couple drinks, was becoming increasingly tolerable, but still not comfortable by any means. After spending a little over three years wandering around the wilderness and living out of his van, the extremely posh seemed so far from his reality. That didn't mean he wouldn't do his best to socialize, though. This was his primary source of income, after all, and as long as things got sold he could rest easy when all of this was over with.
The works he'd chosen to showcase that night were a mixture of landscapes from his travels, some recent and some from years previous. It was difficult for him not to just show heaps and heaps of deserts and mountains, which were quite probably his favourite places to be. He'd found such great inspiration there, painting until he ran out of paint and snapping photos he promised to paint later. Being next to the sea these days was not unwelcome, but it was a change. The last time he'd been living so close to the ocean, it'd been the Arctic. Slightly different than sunny California.
Promising himself that this would only last a few more hours and then he could go home and curl up in his pajamas, Joaquin glanced around the room, trying to judge how people were reacting. Of course people would say they liked things to his face, but what did they tell each other? Did they have genuine interest, or was this just something that was alright? Alright didn't sell paintings. Straightening his tie, he decided it was time to actually approach someone. Ask how they felt. Something. Something that wasn't just standing there. Spotting a man he knew he hadn't talked to before, Joaquin made his way toward him, trying his best to look nonchalant.
"Um, hi," he began, forcing a small smile. "Are you... uh, enjoying yourself?" Shit. You really don't know how to talk to people.