Tania didn’t believe in the separation of light and darkness. Even on the canvas she wove the two together as if one needed the other to be complete. Her space was small. Four white walls, dingy from years of use and little cleaning. She could stretch her hands as far as they would go, take two shuffle steps and reach any wall. This would be more impressive if she were a larger person, but she wasn’t much above five feet.
She sighed, leaning back against the wall that held the solitary window to the small room, opposite the door. Outside life went on as usual. She could hear the sounds of construction and traffic beyond her space. She could hear the sounds of other creators through the door and down the halls where several other rooms were set up for similar purpose. The city still valued art, and made space for people to create it. Young people at least, she noted thinking about the old man who’d called himself a carver. He’d been turned away at the door. No reason was given at the time. She was afraid to ask the floor manager why he couldn’t be granted a space. She needed hers. It was the only place she could create.
Her current painting remained unfinished. The edges were the flat emptiness of bare canvas. Slashes of color shot out haphazardly from the center. She’d meant to make a frame of color, but what fell onto the campus was closer to the arc of a rainbow. Atop that high arch of color she’d drawn the black outline of a man. Curiously, it reminded her of the old man.
Some Thoughts:
- Time ran out, but I think I was headed towards a supernatural tale here…