Mind Games Ch 8 Edvard Munch

June 21, 2010

Hey Mom, hey Dad…it’s been a while. I just wanted to get ahold of you and let you know how I’ve been. I’m in Fawlden Hospital, an institution. I’ve been sober for over four months now and I’m getting therapy and also seeing a psychiatrist. They’re diagnosed me and I’m now on medication.

I’ll be in here for a while, so if you ever want to reply to me about how you’ve been, feel free to write back. I’ll be happy to at least hear from you. I hope you and Beccah are doing great.

I love you and I miss you.

Sincerely,

Jacob Crow

I walked over to the medication unit and poked Ben, whom abruptly spun around to look at me. “Yes?” he asked, appearing somewhat frightened that I was right behind him.

I waved a piece of notebook paper. “Could someone mail this for me? It’s for my parents, 1416 Maple St. Apartment 13.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Just write the address on there and the zip code and we’ll send it out for you.”

I set the paper against the wall and wrote the address and zip on the back, then handed it to Ben. “Thanks,” I said, disappearing into the game room. I walked over to the game-board / puzzle table, where Anita was assisting Robert. “My therapist said there were art supplies here.” She gaped up at me. “Could you show me where they are?”

Anita apologized to sobbing Robert and got up and led me to a closet door behind the television set. She unlocked it with a key and allowed me to look inside.

“Just holler at me when you’re done,” Anita said. “And these aren’t to be taken to your room. They are VERY expensive.” She sprinted back to Robert, rubbing his back and speaking to him.

I turned the light switch on, peering at an easel and a hundred different mediums. I almost had an art-gasm just looking at it. There were oil paints, acrylics, watercolors, inks, pens, markers, colored pencils, drawing utensils, and pastels. Also, there were an assortment of papers, such as Bristol, canvas, soft pastel, and sketch-pads. I grabbed one of the many sketch-pads and drawing utensils, snickering as I snuck it back to my room. These couldn’t cost too much…probably around 30 bucks is all.

I grabbed the #2 pencil from the package, sharpened it and went at it. I had finished her face by the time Mike barged in, plopping next to me on the bed. I kept drawing, feeling his eyes on the page, but I didn’t mind. I loved it when people watched me draw; it was almost like we were communicating in total silence.

“Wow, you’re really good,” Mike muttered.

I stopped, shutting the sketch book and tucking it and the pencils away, underneath my hospital bed. “You think?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know if it sucked I would tell you.” He brought an arm around me and squeezed. “You’re really good! The rumors were true.”

I felt myself smile. Geeze, how long has this truly happened? I haven’t felt this good since July of last year… I reached from under the bed and looked at the drawing before me. My heart jumped into my throat. She looked almost exactly like Dawn… I realized the shading was off on her cheeks, so I grabbed a pen and began working in tiny circles, making the edge of the cheek that met the wavy hair even darker. I reached over to grab the #2 pencil and darkened the eye-lashes.

“You like to draw dark, huh?” Mike went on, analyzing my art.

“Yeah, that’s how I feel,” I muttered, shading and creating more strands of hair to fall across her face. I penciled in the neck and shoulders, outlining a plain white tank top. “Its been a while since I’ve really drawn. Kind of feels liberating.” I traced beautiful, coiled hairs about her bare shoulders. I stopped for a moment, studied, noticing one eye was darker than the other. I began to shade it in, being careful not to ruin the lighting.

“You should incorporate color in it,” Mike suggested. “It’d make it more interesting than just black, gray, and white.”

I shut the sketch book, standing up. Mike looked up at me dumbly. “Well, come on, lets go to the Game Room so I can do that.”

He stood up and followed me. I searched through the closet of goodies, getting out multi-colored pens, markers, ink bottles and pencils. I grabbed some newspaper next to the box of paints and walked over to one of the tables, clearing off the game boards and puzzles. I laid the newspaper down flat and set my sketch pad on it. Studying the drawing once again, I finished the shading of her shoulders, collar bones, and tank top, then went over with blue colored pencils into her hair and skin-tones. I went over it with ‘pale skin’ colored pencil, coloring it in in almost all of her skin, then went over it in purple in the dark areas. It portrayed sadness, even though she was smiling softly. I loved it, reminding me of Edvard Munch’s color scheme in ‘The Scream’. I took violet, navy, dark brown, and red colored pencils and over-lapped the colors in her hair, adding a purple and blue hue to it.

“Wow, that’s looking fantastic,” I heard Mike say.

I kept working color into her lips, then her t-shirt. Finally, I got to her eyes. I chose baby-blue, silver, and aqua-green colors for them. They mocked Dawn’s eyes, making it have a beautiful, dreamy effect. I pushed the colored pencils to the side, now using a black sharpie pen to outline all of her. I blacked the edges, almost unevenly to make it appear as though she were being torn out of the page. I then made strange designs with blue, purple, and black pens. I colored over them lightly with blue and yellow out-liners, then outlined them with red markers. I grabbed the red ink-bottle and made blood-like splatters all around.

All of my mixed emotions poured out of me and I felt pure again. I signed the bottom with a black pen, sighing. “I’m done.”

“I wish I was an artist,” Mike whined, winking at me. “Because you’re one HECK of an artist… Plus artists are allowed to be totally out of their mind!” We both chuckled.

I waved the sketch-pad, airing it out to make sure the drawing was dry. “This was my assignment for my therapist. I’m hoping she’ll replace this oil painting hung in her office with this one. I think my drawings have more emotion, more meaning to them, you know?”

“You definitely have talent.” His eyebrows rose, staring at the work of art. Anita came over, looking at it, also. Soon a pile of people came over to look. All that was there was pure silence of awe, of appreciation. This is how I communicate my feelings to the world.