The Running Artist
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Eddie is
The Running Artist
BY RICHARD EDDIE
Copyright 2026. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Artist and psychiatrist, Dr. December Fairbanks, desperately needed more space for her paintings, especially moving from New York City back to Kingston in 1930. She loved her apartment in the big city, and she was even offered an upper floor with lavish apartments all to herself. For weeks she pondered over accepting the generous offer from the owner. The owner was her lover, Philo Ames, a millionaire and philanthropist from Philadelphia. It turned out that he was one of December’s patients, four years prior in 1926.
She had a passion for art, as well as helping people counter the recesses, issues and darkness of their minds—and sometimes even the brightness of their thoughts. Some, however, just needed someone to talk to and talk about the blessings and living beyond comfortably. Many of December’s patients were patrons and lovers of the arts, and she, too, patronized other artists. Painting was an escape for December, an escape that she dearly loved, filled with purpose that united her love for healing and expression. More than that, it helped her to remember that she was not only a doctor, she was also had the same human needs as her patients.
When she first met Philo Ames, she knew that God had blessed her with a wonderful life and as many riches as she could stand. There was one specific painting that she started on in 1920 that took two years to complete. She spent ample time blaming and hating herself, as well as running from the painting, and the people who knew about the painting. Philo Ames was the man that she needed in her life, regardless of she wanted him in her life or not. The roles could have been reversed, he her psychiatrist, and she a wealthy millionairess.
December began drawing and painting at the age of five. Not from watching anyone else, nor from her worldly travels. It seemed as if she knew exactly what she was doing at such a young age. Her paintings told stories from different worlds and the abysses that were attached. Mysteriously, she even had time to draw in her composition notebooks during class, never alerting her teachers.
Being an artist has to be a god-given talent. Even as a child, Dr. Fairbanks had taken her art very seriously. She never really had many friends. In her dreams, she would hear friendly and distant voices telling her that her paintings were her friends and would never hurt her, that people hurt people, certainly not art and creativity. While listening to her patients, her mind’s eye would create pleasant and colorful worlds, with dreams and fantasies entering her soul. At times, she wished that she could silence her patients and make time stand still. As she painted more as she grew into a young and gifted artist and woman, she had already ‘arrived’. At times, that did not sit well with her, because she was humble. Even so, it was inevitable that December would encounter wealthy patrons that loved her work. Some of them asked for specific subjects for their commissions, while others asked her to paint on her own accord and what she felt or envisioned. No task was too challenging for her, and painting made her life feel complete.
On a wintry Saturday morning in 1926, she began her day early by finally deciding to look for a small art studio. She did not have a busy schedule—only one patient, whom she had never met; it was someone that December’s secretary persuaded her to consider seeing. I do not even know why I’m searching for a studio! I do not plan to keep living here in New York; I desperately want to go back to Kingston!”
Miriam Goode was a neighbor who was older than December by nearly twenty years, and full of life and indignation. “You have a gift, Dr. December. I believe you should present it to the world. Though you do not need the money, why hide your work? Why hide yourself?” Miriam had seen practically all of December’s work, at both her apartment and her office, and had purchased some of her paintings.
“You are very sweet, Ms. Goode, and you are always encouraging. I love New York, but I feel like I am completely out of my element being here. Between you and I, I have painted more than ever, it seems like, since I have been here than in Kingston. Kingston is one of the most inspiring and picturesque placed to write and paint, and the weather is warmer. New York has many qualities for multitudes of people. The city is a world of its own, and it seems like the world itself is here.” Miriam put her hand in December’s arm and they walked together in the peace and confidence that they were safe in the big, busy world of New York City.
About ten blocks down from where they lived, December noticed a row of art galleries. She had never been to the area where Miriam led her. She would question or protest. “We can be our enemy by continuing to hold ourselves back due to fear and doubt. I am very thankful that I was born in New York, now that I am an old lady with no family. I have no regrets at all, because I have been blessed in many ways and with plenty of money.”
They stopped and looked at a particular studio that was empty with the lights on. December stood there facing the window with her arms folded, while Miriam looked at her with the utmost confidence and expectancy. It began to rain, and Miriam proceeded to turn the doorknob; the door opened and they entered. “I will be out in a moment, thank you.” The voice that called out was a woman’s voice. “This particular space is meant for you to have, Dr. December Fairbanks!”
There was a unique, warm and calming fragrance in the studio. Large, framed paintings covered with sheets were on a black and multi-colored carpet. “I love my apartment, but I certainly would not mind living here. It feels like home … and other things,” said Miriam. December agreed with her, as she looked around, nodding her head at every turn with a slight smile.
“Hello and welcome. My name is Tangy Elba, and I own this studio. I am in the process of selling it, because I am going back to Britain.”
December was astonished and pleased to see that Tangy was a Negro with a beautiful dark and accent to match. “I am December Fairbanks, and I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Elba. This is Ms. Miriam Goode, my neighbor and friend.” Tangy had continued to smile when December introduced them. “Why, yes, Miss Goode, I have seen you walk down this row of studios and galleries many times. I am honored that you have stepped into this one!” The idea and feeling of buying the studio felt more promising and special.
“Well, I certainly do appreciate art and the artists that pour their hearts and souls into their work. This lady is a fabulous artist, with a multitude of paintings that desperately require space.” Miriam had wanted to tell Tangy that December was also a psychiatrist; however, she knew that her friend was looking for an escape from psychiatry into the arts. December could speak for herself.
“Ms. Goode is right, Ms. Elba. I absolutely am looking for space to showcase and possibly sell some of my work.”
The three women liked each other. The meeting and December buying the store was meant to be. “To be perfectly honest, the reason of my going back to Britain, is to take care of my dying father … and I have been waiting particularly and only for you, Miss Fairbanks. I know that you are Doctor Fairbanks as well.” The intensity of the New York traffic had increased, along with the rain, prompting people to go to their homes, even on a Saturday. In the studio, they felt that they were in a world of their own. December did not know what to make of what Tangy had said.
The sounds of the rain gave greater depth to the magnificent and joyous opportunity opening up for the artist and psychiatrist. Miriam clasped her hands together with full and sincere support for December. “Ms. Elba, I have a feeling that, when it comes to price, you are not asking for an ample amount of money.” In that moment, December would not have minded lying on the couch in Miriam’s office. She was not sure if what she was experiencing was real, believable or made any type of sense at all. At the same time, she was careful not invite or allow fear into the opportunity and the beautiful feelings that came with it.
“You are absolutely correct, Ms. Goode. I was blessed to pay off the studio just two months ago. Money is not an object or an issue. My only ask, Ms. Fairbanks, is that you bring your best and most revealing work with no shame, no reservation. Please stop hiding, Ms. Fairbanks. You know better as a psychiatrist and a person!”
Nothing else mattered at that moment. December found herself in the middle of two towering oceans, both centered on her, with great anticipation that she would listen and agree to Tangy’s offer. Tangy was used to conveying messages from the oceans to people that she encountered, and she knew that the oceans were sending a message to December Fairbanks. Before December could utter a single word, she heard footsteps coming from the back, where Tangy had been.
“Well, Ms. Elba, you have done a wonderful job with this place, and convincing Dr. Fairbanks that this studio is meant for her and no one else.” Philo Ames made a grand and haunting entrance. Dashing in all black, he took both December and Miriam by surprise, especially December.
“It is certainly a small world, Mr. Ames. Were you hiding and just knew that I would come here?” He displayed no arrogance, which helped December to feel at ease.
“Ms. Goode, let Dr. Fairbanks and Mr. Ames talk while I show you some of my finished pieces,” said Tangy. December had hoped that traffic would enter the studio. There was a myriad of feelings skyrocketing into orbit about this man that she could not escape. The universe knew that what was going to take place between these two, and so did Philo Ames. “Now, December, you know as well as I do that your going back to Kingston is a mistake, when you belong with me …”
December was tired of running. She had run for a very long time—from her work as an artist and from her true identity. “Mr. Ames, you certainly have a way with words.” Still in denial, she said, “I am not running, I am a psychiatrist, and that means that I encourage my patients to stop running from their feelings, emotions and fears.” Feeling the shift inside her, she said, “Now, maybe I can do the same for myself.” Tangy and Miriam had returned, with Tangy holding a large frame covered with a large black sheet. “Dr. December Fairbanks, your ultimate masterpiece has been waiting for you,” said Tangy. Philo helped Tangy hold up the painting before taking it from her.
December held her breath, refraining from showing any emotion of any kind. Miriam had stood closer to December to show support, perhaps also to try to keep December from leaving the studio. “Dr. Fairbanks, though you do need the money to sell your work, but this has to been by the entire world, and people who look like me and Mr. Ames are encouraging you and have encouraged you.” Tangy pushed a chair into the middle of the studio to place the large frame. December was speechless and yet calm. ‘This is your masterpiece, Dr. December Fairbanks!” The particular painting that she had been running away from was revealed. Dr. December Fairbanks, a Negro woman and Mr. Philo Ames, a Negro man, married, standing in the middle of the ocean looking to baptizing people of all colors. “Why, it is simply fascinating!” said Miriam Goode, a Caucasian woman.