Work Text:
Alex swiped the brush across the canvas and— No. That wasn't quite the right color.
He glanced up to his subject in front of him, then back at the color, then back down at the palette held loosely in his right hand, piles of pigmented paints plopped here and there, puddles of previous attempts. Sky sat patiently as he mixed in a little more yellow, careful and controlled, then swatched it again.
Not quite. More white. Again.
Not quite. More red. Again.
Not quite. Again. Not quite. Again.
Correcting it this way, of course, simply left Alex with more and more of the failed colors as he went. Perhaps he could use them for the faint variations in the highlights later on, the velvety sheen of the petals, the sparkle in Sky's irises. But first, he needed to get the base color right.
It proved endlessly difficult.
Alex had to get this right. The eyes were the window to the soul, the marigolds held in her hand were the focal point of the piece, and this color—this vivid, striking, breathtaking, devastating color—was vital to capturing the whole point of the painting in the first place.
Sky didn't seem to mind as he sighed and started mixing the color from scratch once more. She had no sense of color theory, and from her position across from him, couldn't see the problem. She said nothing, though when Alex glanced up again to compare, he thought he noticed the slightest frown, a fraction of a change in the angle of her lips.
He glanced back at his sketch, vague outlines of shadows and forms. She was definitely frowning now; he could see the change documented right in front of him.
Better to hurry it up, then. He tried again, this time starting with more red from the start. Her eyes had more of a golden hue, but based off the warm sunset lighting in the room, the color would be deeper and richer, not the colder, greener tones of a brassy gold. Her eyes were not a brown turned brilliantly saturated in the sunlight; they were a flaming orange, like a butterfly's wing, like a plume of feathers on a dancing bird, like the marigolds she held in her hand.
Finally he swatched the color once more, and finally it felt right. That was the color he saw with that fierce look of determination in her eyes. That was the color when she patted him on the shoulder and helped him dust himself off. That was the color that spoke endlessly of her dedication and her will and her freedom, of her intelligence and her eagerness and her strength.
Alex compared it to the girl sitting in front of him, her foot tapping. Sky watched him with curiosity, and… No. No, that shadow wasn't there before. He was sure of it. The sun was setting, and quickly. The lighting had changed, and with it, so had the color of her eyes.