Feelings & Art by randomwriter
I open the paint tubes and methodically squeeze out paint. The vivid dollops are perfectly spaced apart, in a circle. Ever so carefully, I gently smear them with a brush. I stand back and admire what I've done so far. Perfect. The smears are identical, aside from their colors.
I add some more brushstrokes and paint dollops, all the while displaying the same amount of precision. Once I finish, I step back yet again and look at my painting. Perfect. The lines are so straight, the circles so round, the gradients so exact...
My painting turned out exactly as I imagined. I smile. "Logan!" Samara exclaims from my left, moving aside so I can see her piece. "What do you feel?" She never asks what I think about art, but what I FEEL. What the piece is telling me.
I stare, impressed at how the colors spill into each other, coexisting. It's sloppy, but emits a strong aura, unlike mine, which I just made to look pleasing. "I feel... lots of things," I murmur weakly to my girlfriend.
"Like what?" Samara prompts. "...Life. I can feel grief, glee, confusion, yearning, acception, a heaviness- like a responsibility-" Samara nods, pleased. "So that's what I felt as I painted." "You're an amazing artist, Samara!"
She frowns at me. "No, it was the canvas. The canvas told me what to paint, and I painted it. The canvas is the true artist, I just helped it express itself, tossing in some of my feelings as well." "Oh, right," I say. I'm not an artist the way my girlfriend is. I draw neatly, while she pours in her feelings and works with the supplies.
I may never have the relationship my girlfriend has with art, but I'm content with my art. Samara claims my longing for order and not being helpless with no control is what inspires me to make such precise and straight art. She might be right. Actually, she's always right. It's just a matter of if people can grasp what she's trying to say.
The chaos of Samara's painting is truly incredible. You'd think the colors would clash, but they just bring out the best in the rest of the piece. Although it's messy, every stroke and splatter seems just right, as though the canvas was meant to have it. It's incredible that Samara can do that with the canvas.
But I'm not saying my order and simpleness isn't as good. It's great- just in a different way. Art is art, and different artists have different methods and things to convey.
My boyfriend, Logan, has such a steady arm! I wouldn't be able to draw those super perfect lines even if I wanted to! Good thing I'm decent at spilling paint. The canvas just sings at me, "put a smudge here! An arc riiiiight about there. One orange splatter near the corner!"
And I do it. Before I paint it on, I can picture what the canvas wants me to add and where. I don't listen to the canvas all the time, though. No, sometimes I do my own thing- which by that I mean by accident. I spill some paint and drag the paintbrush along gently with no destination in mind.
I just let art happen. Even though Logan is way different from me, even having a specific step by step method for marbling paints(!), we get along so well. I guess we just... understand and accept each others' ways of creating art. And...
Well, even though I'm always asking Logan what he feels, I don't really understand what I feel all that much... you see, what I really do is I stop trying to understand all my emotions and let art tell me what to feel. My emotions are all too jumbled and confused, while Logan can easily differentiate his many complex emotions, which is so impressive!
He's so sensitive and aware of all his moods, which I can't do. I can't make sense of the swirling mass of chaos inside me. With his precision and clear yet complex emotions, and my carelessness and confusing emotions, we somewhat complete each other. That's really impressive.
Now I take a peek at Logan's painting. It takes my breath away. I'm still tracing all the lines with my gaze when Logan leans in close to me and wipes something off my cheek. Probably paint. "Oops, I made it worse," he laughs.
I laugh with him, heart pounding like crazy. He's set all my insides on fire, fluttering and jumping around and swirling and tangling and floating. "Let me try again," he says as he goes off to get a damp paper towel.
He places the wet paper towel on my cheek, cooling down my burning cheek. I'm blushing furiously. He keeps his hand on my cheek as we gaze into each others' eyes. Oh, wow, his eyes are such an impressive shade, swirling with depth and gorgeousness and something that might be a mix of admiration, love, and longing.
We draw a bit closer. His lips find mine and the kiss sets off an explosion of feelings, like a bunch of colors in water, blossoming and seeming light and airy. I feel like I'm floating. We're a piece of art together, gorgeous colors melting together impressively and swirling together, sparking love and a gentle contentment. Amazing.
So yeah, that's my attempt at making an artistic love story. Hope it was decent.