Sophia.

   Not everything dissolves,     and not everything falls apart.  Some fads are permanent, sometime I believe that one will stay.      She comforts these thoughts with the melodic tones of Laura Veirs  in the background…the latest in continuous audible stimulation, the hums and moans of the pink light    guiding her fingers on the home-stretched canvas.    Despite what the punks at the gallery said,   she knew herself to be true to art.      The clichés of paint being blood were core to her nature,     her being. It was the rhythms and stimulations of her sensory perception that guided the brushstrokes over the deliberate layers of newspaper and   articles.

She brushed the hair off her forehead, whilst leaving evidence of her purple paint choice behind.   Stepping back to put the creation in perspective,  she began to understand the flaws…She saw the wit and white between the strategic layers of paper, canvas and paint.

It was irritating,

frustrating,

     and in the end,

       a relief.

Abstract deserves the cracks.

     And reality deserves some fading light, stage left.

But this latter realization would  come later.

For now, there was the painting to deal with.

 

 

 

   Sophia caresses the sunlight on her pillow with sleep-covered eyes. Oscar greets her morning with a purr, and a stretch. It would be another simple   day at the   gallery , should she will herself that life existed    outside of her bed   at that moment.

     15 more minutes….

I swear…

 

The gallery calls promptly at 10:16.

 

Punk A is on the line with the request that Sophia not miss another day at work,   especially on a day when there was supposed to be  an opening….

Friend of the owner….big deal…..right….I’ll be there….

 

Just 15 more minutes….promise.

  Oscar simply goes to find his food bowl, leaving Sophie to her excuses.

 

     11:09

The phone rings again.

This time it’s her step-sister. Another mini-crisis with the wedding across town.   She wants    Sophie to provide some rare   art  for the  reception hall.

Fortunately, this is dealt with by the machine , and Oscar is too distracted with food to notice that Crazy still hasn’t gotten out of bed.