Depiction of Life

Two glaring eyes peering above an easel, towards an empty plant pot poised on a lopsided stool. An artist gently glided her brush across a pale canvas, as tears descended towards the hard concrete floor below, in a makeshift basement studio.

Soft actions were coordinated through strong emotions, each stroke made with meticulous precision as if life itself depended on a picture-perfect result. The artist’s heartstrings coiled in intense conflict, by doing what she loved whilst knowing; this was the last opportunity before her world came tumbling down.

Final demand letters tacked to the surrounding walls, adversity serving as a reminder on all four sides, to embrace urgency in a critical moment. Art to this young woman meant creating an image that no dictionary can define, leading people to rely on feeling alone to explain.

Where earlier pieces had failed, tonight was about turning an overwhelming and unfortunate tide, to banish a dark cloud that casted it's shadow since arriving in the big city. Before morning, a magnum opus and inanimate savior needed to be injected into her turbulent reality.

When dawn broke, the finishing touches were complete, and the artist was taken aback by her creation. A magnificent orchid, defiantly piercing sunlight towards the night sky, opening a hole to reveal heavenly clouds.

“Alright, and now the final test?” She whispered towards the painting while pulling a photograph from her overalls, one of a strong potted orchid.

The artist compared the photograph with the painting, seeing she captured its finest details and began to weep.

Walking around the easel she knelt in front of the empty plant pot and whispered; “You didn’t like the air here or the atmosphere. Thank you, I’ve learned that memories are faithful, and out there, they need to see that beauty. To remember what’s gone, was always there.”