Work Text:
Renoir's lies are elegant and efficient. Exposition, rising action, climax, all neatly packaged and tied with a bow for the viewer to find the message within. His work is an invitation, every story promising enlightenment. His lines are plain, somewhat obtuse, prone to misinterpretation at first glance. The novice will find mistakes where an expert appreciates experience. Each painted parable holds more wisdom than words could hope to convey. To tell is human; to show is divine. Renoir is a liar in the oldest sense. It is no wonder so many hate what he has to say with his art.
Aline's lies are bewitching and addictive. The colors draw crowds with the promise of vibrant, whimsical scenes. Beauty is everywhere in her work. Details abound as she pushes the limits of what is possible with her palette. She is a rare talent whom her peers envy. So many admirers. So many rivals. Her skill is her only solace from reality’s tightening snare. Within painting’s frame she is omnipotent, while outside she is so very fragile. Aline lies to herself more than anyone else. It is no wonder she prefers her own fantasies over a world which fails to inspire her.
Clea's lies are searing and sharp. Her jagged lines are talons aiming right for the heart. Each strike is decisive, leaving no room for interpretation. There is no space for mercy on her canvas. She outgrew silly nonsense long ago. Her strokes put the cruel apathy of the world on full display. The finished work is a dare to the viewer to look away. Only the brave face the brutal honesty in her art. Clea is a liar whom most people believe. It is no wonder so many find her callous with how deliberately she hides how much she cares.
Verso's lies are methodical and convincing. He is thoughtful before taking the brush and deliberate with his strokes. His steady hands are better suited for performances than portraits. His work satisfies others’ expectations more than his own. The canvas fails to capture his artistic vision in a way sound offers potential. His pivot from painting to music bears scrutiny. The family’s initial disappointment leaves an imprint which their later acceptance fails to fully erase. Verso delivers his lies with a straight face. It is no wonder he feels like an outcast in a home where he always wears a mask.
Alicia's lies are inconsistent and shallow. Her imagination runs faster than her hands and leaves her stuck in the drafting stage where possibility yet reigns. Rarely does a sketch reach completion to risk the judgment of a virtuoso mother who doubts this last child inherited the same amount of talent as her siblings. The potential is there, but her practice struggles to manifest improvement when perfection is the standard. Near extinguished, every spark of inspiration sputters amid the ashes of her passion. Alicia lies like wildfire. It is no wonder she shines brightest once there is nothing left to burn.