Painting
Isn’t it nice when rummaging through some old note pads when you find a piece you really like!
Painting belongs to the following groups:
Short stories - Spherical ScriptingsMelissa sat in the window, resting her chin on her knees as she watched the rain steadily falling. The leaves of the shrubs outside the window danced and trembled as they were struck, glinting goldin the reflected light from the window. She knew that the drain at the bottom of her drive would probably be flooded by now, forming a gurgling stream along the side of the road to the next drain. Her dog, Matilda nudged her foot with her cold nose, looking up at Melissa with desolate chocolate brown eyes.
“I know.” Melissa sighed, ruffling Matilda’s floppy ears. “We both wanted to be outside today, but we’re going to have to find other things to do instead. Sitting here moping isn’t going do either of us any good.” She stated firmly, swingin her legs round and standing up. “The first thing we need is music, something to cheer us up.” Rumaging through her cd collection she searched for something appropriate. “Wow, I have a really depressing collection!” She muttered, half to herself and half to Matilda at her feet. “Ah, here we are.”
Oncwe the music was playing, the lively piano notes accompanying the clear cheerful singing lifting her spirits, so she was once more smiling, Melissa looked round the room.
“Now, what to do…” Her gaze came to rest on the easel that stood in the corner of the room, neatly folded into a line of timber. She eyed it thoughtfully. It had been several years since she had used it, maybe it was time to re-instigate it. But first she would have to investigate the state of her paints. “I hope they haven’t dried up.” She murmoured to Matilda, who wagged her tail suppotively. “Of course, I have no idea what to paint, or what to paint on, but first things first.” Matilda followed her through to the store room under the stairs, listening politely to Melissa’s rambling conversation. “But I do quite fancy painting again. I don’t suppose you’d pose for me?” She grinned down at the dog, who thudded her tail enthusiastically against the wall, pleased to be noticed. “Oh you will, will you? I don’t believe that for a second.” Melissa crouched in front of the storage trunk, carelessly shoving the books and boxes off to reach her art equipment before lifting the heavy lid. She picked out the box of paints, and examined the contents. A few of the older tubes were dry, but to her delight most of the paints were almost full and still moist. Putting the box out of Matilda’s curious reach, she rummaged deeper into the chest for brushes, palette and a painting surface. Occassionally she would come across a few trial images, pausing to study them and recall the resultant paintings. Suddenly, glancing back into the chest as she placed more brushes alongside the growing collection of equipment, she caught a glimpse of white.
“Is that…” Reaching in, she pulled out a clean canvas. “Brilliant, maybe today isn’t so bad after all.” Sshe grinned wryly at Matilda. “Lets go and set up shall we?!” Picking up all her equipment, she retraced her steps to the easel and leaving the materials on the dining table, erected the easel directly under the light. She spent a few moments ensuring that all her equipment was set up in reach as she liked it, before turning to face the challenge of the blank canvas. A song came to its end, the rippling chords dying away to a few moments silence before the next track started.
“What to paint…” She mused to Maltida now lying bored in front of the empty fire place. Melissa slowly loaded her brush, instinctively shoosing the colour before placing the brush in the top corner of the canvas to stroke the paint across the fabric. Her hand moved automatically, re-filling the brush, stroking the rose hue onto the canvas, repeating the process until the canvas was coverered in a billowing rose background. She paused briefly only to clean the brush and select another, thinner brush before filling that one with paint, appying another coat over the background. Oblivious to what was happening outside of her canvas, she painted instinctively, ignoring the growling of her hungry stomach. Matilda whined to be let out, so Melissa spared a few moments to open the door before returning to the easel. It was only when she was cleaning the fifth brush and adding more paint to her palatte that she realised that the music had finished.
“Well, I paid a lot of attention to that didn’t I?!” She muttered, before turning back to her painting.
An hour later she stepped back from the easel and put down the brush. It was finished. She stood and stared proudly at her masterpiece, a portrait from her imagination of a unicorn. The horn seemed to give off an irredescent gleam, the fur and hair indiviually painted within the one whole, but it was the eyes she was most proud off. They seemed alive, glinting with intense wisdom. Melissa nodded happily. This piece she would not, could not sell. She turned away to the dining table and began clearing away. Glancing up and out of the window, she watched as the last few drops of rain fell, and the sun seemed to chase the clouds away. The late evening sun filled the garden with a golden orange hue, making the rain on the window glint with liquid gold.
“Well Matilda, it looks like we can go out after all!” She said cheerfully, hurrying with her tidying. A few minutes later, with Matilda straining at her lead, Melissa turned back to the painting as she stood in the dor. It was framed by the window behind, silouhetted yet clearly identifiable. Melissa smiled and turned to her eager dog, closing the door on the painting to go on the long awaited walk.
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