Empty Canvas
1/1
I stared at the empty canvas.
Thoughts sprinted around in my head like deer in a field. They appeared in small frantic flashes; all pertaining to the colors that could be projected onto the surface in front of me. There wasn't anything more frustrating than trying to express your thoughts or feelings in a way that could hold solidarity in the real world. Maybe that’s why most artists went mad.
Because there wasn't any way to express what you felt.
Or there was too much to be expressed.
I took a deep breath and then sighed. I dipped my brush in the pallet and began working. My brows came close together and my lips pursed. As I worked I began to think of my inspiration. Maybe there was a reason I haven’t picked up the brush in five years. In the past I didn't really have any spark of inspiration, I just painted whatever seemed interesting, and whatever seemed colorful enough to be looked at, however, lately nothing seemed bright enough, pretty enough, or worth the effort anymore.
Until…
By the time I realized what I was painting, the painting took on too much life to change my mind. I just let my hands continue on. I didn't realize how long I was there until my arm became sore and my feet hurt. The sun was waking up and the door creaked behind me. I was too consumed to even turn around and face her.
When I finally did turn to face her, I was sorry I didn't do it sooner. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were only open slightly. She had the bed sheet wrapped around her body frame and she wore the expression of a curious and tired kitten.
She didn't say anything at first; she just stared closely at the painting once she realized it was in the room. Her drowsy eyes widened a bit and her lips parted. Every inch of me wanted to jump on her and somehow consume her and take her body all over again.
“Needs more blue” she stated, the left side of her lips lifted up.
I stared back at the painting and smiled. I finally put the brush down and turned towards her. Her eyes glinted and she had a full on smirk. My eyes narrowed but before I could take another step forward she was already rushing out of the room, a trail of white sheets behind her. I heard her laughter throughout the halls before I even made it out of the room.
As I ran into the hallway I could see her head peaking out of my room; that glint still in her emerald eyes. I rushed towards her and by the time I reached my room she was already on my bed sitting upright, bare and wearing nothing but her smile.
“You’re way too awake in the morning.” I said as I leaned against the threshold.
She shrugged. “I like my mornings.”
I walked over towards her. She looked up at me, her smile never faltering. I reached down towards her and scooped her up until she was on her knees. I began kissing her excessively which caused an eruption of giggles. I began at her mouth and moved my way up her cheekbone and to the line of her hair. I ran my right hand through the back of her head while my left arm was holding her up.
I pulled away to take in all her features. They were almost too much to take in. She almost seemed painful too look at, like staring stupidly at the sun. Every detail about her seemed vibrant. Every inch was almost too much.
Even her vibrant blue hair.
Thoughts sprinted around in my head like deer in a field. They appeared in small frantic flashes; all pertaining to the colors that could be projected onto the surface in front of me. There wasn't anything more frustrating than trying to express your thoughts or feelings in a way that could hold solidarity in the real world. Maybe that’s why most artists went mad.
Because there wasn't any way to express what you felt.
Or there was too much to be expressed.
I took a deep breath and then sighed. I dipped my brush in the pallet and began working. My brows came close together and my lips pursed. As I worked I began to think of my inspiration. Maybe there was a reason I haven’t picked up the brush in five years. In the past I didn't really have any spark of inspiration, I just painted whatever seemed interesting, and whatever seemed colorful enough to be looked at, however, lately nothing seemed bright enough, pretty enough, or worth the effort anymore.
Until…
By the time I realized what I was painting, the painting took on too much life to change my mind. I just let my hands continue on. I didn't realize how long I was there until my arm became sore and my feet hurt. The sun was waking up and the door creaked behind me. I was too consumed to even turn around and face her.
When I finally did turn to face her, I was sorry I didn't do it sooner. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were only open slightly. She had the bed sheet wrapped around her body frame and she wore the expression of a curious and tired kitten.
She didn't say anything at first; she just stared closely at the painting once she realized it was in the room. Her drowsy eyes widened a bit and her lips parted. Every inch of me wanted to jump on her and somehow consume her and take her body all over again.
“Needs more blue” she stated, the left side of her lips lifted up.
I stared back at the painting and smiled. I finally put the brush down and turned towards her. Her eyes glinted and she had a full on smirk. My eyes narrowed but before I could take another step forward she was already rushing out of the room, a trail of white sheets behind her. I heard her laughter throughout the halls before I even made it out of the room.
As I ran into the hallway I could see her head peaking out of my room; that glint still in her emerald eyes. I rushed towards her and by the time I reached my room she was already on my bed sitting upright, bare and wearing nothing but her smile.
“You’re way too awake in the morning.” I said as I leaned against the threshold.
She shrugged. “I like my mornings.”
I walked over towards her. She looked up at me, her smile never faltering. I reached down towards her and scooped her up until she was on her knees. I began kissing her excessively which caused an eruption of giggles. I began at her mouth and moved my way up her cheekbone and to the line of her hair. I ran my right hand through the back of her head while my left arm was holding her up.
I pulled away to take in all her features. They were almost too much to take in. She almost seemed painful too look at, like staring stupidly at the sun. Every detail about her seemed vibrant. Every inch was almost too much.
Even her vibrant blue hair.