Work Text:
As you open the curtains and the windows, the shining light from the sunset glimmers upon the now faded painting. You adjust her positions to see directly the beautiful mixture of colors of the sky. She certainly scolds you for this, as she would say that direct light is bad for paintings, her words ring in your mind.
And this went for the whole evening, an odd yet comfortable quiet sit above them. Sitting behind her, you thought that it felt both illusory yet very real at the same time, the whole journey up until this point. Sometime it went to your friend, the buyer of this painting before it was given to you, did he actually die before all of this? Or did he come back after you finished the whole cursed-painting thing? How about all of those people before them? Are they okay now or still stuck in that worn down studio?
Nevertheless, you could hear her talk about how the sun has already settled under the horizon and wondering if you’re just going to let her be there for the whole night. You let out a quiet sigh and moved towards the window.
You live in the quiet part of the town and so goes with your studio, much farther away that is enough to see small fractions of stars from here. It glowed with all its might as it decorated the now dark empty sky, cold winds graze your features with small leafs followed by. You stare at her and the blank and faded painting stare back, there’s no movement nor sound from it yet you can hear her speak in your mind that of her uncomfortableness from the cold wind and how she isn’t happy with how you are treating her but still adoring the small stars in the sky.
Are you simply imagining her voice or is she still sapient after all this time?
Absent mindedly you close the windows and take her somewhere farther but still enough for her to see outside. Putting her between all of the paintings you’ve made over the years makes you wonder: Have you put all of your heart into all of your pieces or are you simply content with all of it?
Truthfully, you never really fully put all of it. You know that feeling content with what you have is good and all yet it wouldn’t if you just stay at one spot.
Having a form of question forming within you, you get up and take all the necessities to go back home. Your phone that went through pocket dimension with you, a coat and a scarf. Waving to the painting she waves back and before you left the studio, you saw a small bird perch close to the windows.
—^v^—
The sound of rain echoes through the ear, bit by bit raindrops hit the pavement. Standing outside, waiting for the rain to subside.You stare above, waiting underneath a porch. The sky is colored by blueish grey clouds that piled on each other as its true self hidden underneath it.
Clouds upon clouds covered it, even if it showed something pleasing it wouldn’t compare to its magnificent true self. Even if it’s colored in something plain and simple.
It reminds you of her, the painting or maybe.. Even that model that she told you before, what that painter saw must be something very very magnificent and exposed to be able to paint that. A beautiful sky.
Then you remember it again. Coming back to that thought yesterday, you keep on wondering. There would be times where you felt a surge of emotions and were compelled enough to paint it, though those are erratic and wild to be fully captured. It was fleeting too, as it came and went as if it was the waves at the sea.
There’s also those paintings that were made in orderly fashion and a lot more controlled. There’s nothing wrong with it as it was a good practice method for you, made it a lot easier to do if it were to sell in a bunch and it was easier to do as it wasn’t fully demanding but sometimes it felt it lacked something in it. Something that made it feel like it was beating with a living heart.
There’s no right answer in this question, truthfully telling. It only exists between those two worlds.
Eh.. At least it wasn’t like committing counterfeits or anything alike such as how you and your friend were producing to scrape out a living.
…
Your friend..
He’s doing okay, thankfully.
Last night you called just to check on how he’s doing, asking if he remembered anything peculiar or about the painting he brought. He said he doesn’t, all he remembers was when he brought that painting to you which he felt a weird sense of déjà vu, however he does remember how he was thinking if you can restore or patch it up and how that painting ended up coming back to him when the previous owner, a collector of creepy antiques, disappeared without a trace, the last time he heard from her.
Then he asked you back if there’s anything suspicious about that painting, if it's actually cursed or to just throw it out by himself or maybe to just sell it as it is instead, in which you immediately deflected all of it, saying you’re just worried about him and remembered that you left something back at the studio, you cut him off before he continue to say anything and said your goodbye. You ended that call abruptly.
You heave a sigh, this whole web that you got caught on..
The rain doesn’t seem to end anytime soon. She must be waiting in that studio of yours, gazing at that same vision of the clouds.
—@c@ —
The sky came back with its plain blue canvas.
And sitting before you is the painting yet again.
You stare beyond the sky with quiet hums coming from the painting, humming a song to the small bird in a birdcage, you thought that the bird had already gone away but it seems like it came back again. A comfortable stillness sat between you two.
A small bird flew and perched at the window, curious eyes staring into the studio, more of them came to the window to watch both of them. Looking at this, she then calls you out, asking if it’s better to let the bird free to meet with its kind. You only replied with a shrug.
Now the bird within the cage seems trying to get out of the cage, seeking the freedom to be with its kind that exists outside the canvas and those birds waiting patiently at the window sill. She asks again, now a lot more impatient, if it’s better to let the bird fly away. Looking close at the birds, you answered with a nod.
With that, she opens the cage and the bird takes its leave, so goes with the birds at the window sill, they get up and flap their wings to leave the place.
She calls you out again, now that her bird left she wonders what would you do now, who this whole time just watches the sky. She asks if there’s something more alluring to that sky, a hit of irony in her words. Your attention goes to her, you stare at the canvas for a good minute when an idea hits you. Instead of replying to her question, you immediately asked her if it’s okay if you paint something over her canvas.
She let out a sigh and said that this isn’t how you treat a lady but regardless she let you continue, curious what kind of things that you wanted to paint over her.
You eagerly smiled.
—*c*—
The first painter told the past of the painting, how he met her, how gorgeous she was under the setting sun, how she died, how she could’ve lived a life of fulfillment. How hope was at her very finger tips yet she died before she could even hold it.
Just as her painting said, she died just like who she was imitating, not as who she truly is.
You never knew her, you never even met her directly aside from her painting counterpart. Who she really is may be hidden underneath the mounting paint coated on her.
Her face disappeared underneath the facade that the old man forced her to put on. Under a blue flower, under a seashell earring, under a glimmering sinking sun and under all the blood from the fall.
Even her painting is never really able to replicate who she is, as she always has to put up an act for that man.
Yet..
You are inclined to paint something in memory of them, the girl and the painter.
You remember someone saying that when they truly put their all, their soul transfer into said thing, whether if it's an object, a feeling, or a person. And how their feelings that exist in their creation may live for a millennium.
Somewhere underneath a sombre yet full sky, at the beach where she could collect seashells he could paint her wild and free self. Underneath a dark night sky where stars littered everywhere. Underneath a raining sky where they could enjoy their time at a flower garden.
Anyhow, if this is the right call or not.. You honestly aren't sure.
But nonetheless you’re happy with it, she did say paint with your whole soul.
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you? I would say i would too if the sky isn’t too dull… I guess it’s just like the rain, it got affected by your gloomy nature, didn't it?”
That’s what she would say.
Oh, your friend’s here, you should let him see this.
—>.>—
A painting hangs inside one of the exhibition's darker corners, typically paintings that are sensitive to bright lighting.
It depicts a girl, enjoying herself picking up seashells near the coastline. Then there was another figure, a man, painting the charming girl and the landscapes surrounding her. Multiple dresses were placed beside the man. The sky was oddly colored to be somewhat dull yet it holds value over the two figures. A flowerbed lay farther away, colored into colorful magnificent colors.
It was titled as: The Girl and The Painter
Painted by an anonymous person who prefers to be unnamed.
Rumors said that this painting was originally a cursed painting from a long series of paintings, in which the said painting were painted in blotches and caused its previous owners to disappear before landing and painted over by the anonymous painter.
Some were very accepting of the painting, some were outraged, some felt complicated and so on, either way nobody really knew who painted nor the exact reason.
Either way it was placed close to paintings of a tea party, which have multiple fruits, snacks and tea, as well as two separate paintings of a bird and a cat. A sculpture of a cage and a mirror by a sculptor. A painting of a solemn landscape by an artist, murky and dull yet similar with the sky in the painting of its side, it holds value. And another painting beside the two depicts two friends, side by side, one smiling widely while the other just had a small smile.
A man walks into the room with his friend, gazing at all the paintings, he then points at the painting of the girl and the painter and looks at his friend. He asks:
“Hey pal, i’m happy for you and all but why did you decide to go anonymous over that peculiar painting? I mean, look at it, it can make ya famous and all”
The friend simply replied to him:
“The painting was a collaboration from multiple people. I don’t want to take credit for all of it, especially for the people before me.”
And to let a promise to be finally kept.