I turn on my music before setting my timer for just after lunch. I go about getting all my paint and brushes set out in front of the huge canvas that is bigger than I am tall. The curator of the gallery where my exhibit is being housed didn’t even bat an eye when I asked her if I could change the featured piece at the last minute. The idea came to me last night during one of the rare moments Nikki let me sleep, and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
The first thing I did, before calling her, was go through the blank canvases that are stored in my guest room to find the one. I remember when I bought the six-foot-by-four-foot canvas; I never thought I would find something to put on it, until last night.
Placing the canvas so that it’s horizontal on my easel, having to adjust the custom-made brackets in order to hold the monster, I instantly pick up my brush and drop it into the gray paint.
It isn’t long before the music, my mind, and my arm against the canvas are synced together in a beautiful dance. Each stroke is made without thought; each dip into the paint is made without looking away from the swirling arches and twists of black, gray, and white paint.
Never have I created something that wasn’t full of color, full of life. All of my paintings are known for being vibrant and as lifelike as a picture. But not this one. This one is as abstract as it gets.
My timer goes off, and I step back to look at the work that has held me captive for the last five hours. I take a deep breath and move from one side of the canvas to the other, taking in the unfinished work. I’m surprised that I managed to get as much as I had done today, but really, I shouldn’t be. It’s been a long time since I was that captive in my zone.
I make quick work of cleaning up my supplies and moving the unused paint mixtures to the pods that will keep them fresh until I can return to my work tomorrow. I ignore the grumble in my stomach as I drop down on the couch with a heavy sigh and give in to the exhaustion that I’ve been pushing off.
My dreams are full of the black, gray, and white world I just knew would be my best piece of art to date.
“What?” I ask around a mouthful of pizza.
My sister just continues to look at me with narrowed eyes.
“Seriously, what is your problem?” I snap, dropping the crust after tearing off the last delicious bite.
“Dad is going to shit his pants when he sees your head,” she tells me, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Yeah? And how is he going to find out unless someone opens her big fat mouth to tell him?”
“You two annoy the shit out of me,” Stella bluntly states, causing my sister to snap her eyes over to where she is finishing Dani’s hair. “I’m so happy that my dad didn’t have more kids. I could never handle that crap.”
Dani laughs, earning a scowl from Stella when her head moves too much. “Just imagine having to deal with a miniature version of my dad as a brother!”
“Yeah, no. No way in hell I could handle that shit,” Stella continues, curling another long piece of Dani’s hair around her flat iron.
“You have it all wrong, Stel.” Lyn laughs. “There is no way a sibling could have handled you!”
Everyone laughs, and Stella just shrugs, sprays another lock of Dani’s hair with hairspray, and continues without disagreeing.
“He’s going to find out,” my sister continues as if she hadn’t just been interrupted.
“Shut up.” I groan and move to walk into my living room where the rest of the girls are hanging out in various forms of readiness.
Dani and Stella had been doing everyone’s hair since the moment they all arrived two hours ago; now, the only two left are the both of them. My hair had been first and the beginning of my sister’s annoying chatter about my dad potentially freaking out. The second Dani moved the shorter hair that always brushes over the side of my forehead and got a look at the now yellow and green bruising, she hadn’t stopped.