Alone by Tiffany Lovering Read Free Book Online Page B

you are the first live subject I've worked with in a really long time. Talking while I work is actually less distracting than I thought it would be.”
    “ You don't ever listen to music or something while you work? Light background noise or something?”
    “ Uh...no,” I said hoping that she wouldn't ask for me to clarify.
    “ When I was in school and had to do homework, I had to have something playing while I worked. Too much silence made me nervous.”
    “ I was like that a long time ago. Before I started taking art seriously.”
    The painting of Sara was coming along faster than I thought possible. I was working feverishly as we spoke, but the painting wasn't something I was overly proud of. It was decent in overall content, but something was missing. About halfway through, I decided that doing it black and white was a mistake. It covered the bruises, but at the same time, it lost something in her eyes.
    “ What's wrong?” she asked as she saw the expression on my face as I examined my half finished painting.
    “ I should have used color, that's all.”
    “ Are you stopping?”
    “ No. I can't stop midway. I finish everything I start. I'll probably end up putting this one in storage after I use it as a reference to make a color version.”
    About forty five minutes after I had started, the painting was complete. It was a good representation of what she looked like but there was nothing about the painting that really stood out about it. I wondered if I should have spent more time on it, but I didn't think that was the problem at all.
    “ All done?”
    “ Yep, you're free to move now,” I said smiling.
    “ Can I see?” Sara asked as she stretched in her spot on the couch.
    “ Sure.”
    When she got up to look at the painting, her hood fell back away from her head and the lighting in the room made her eyes stand out so much more. I tried memorizing the color for when I did the color version of my painting. Her eyes reminded me of the color of the ocean, a turquoise blue around the edges and darker in the middle. They seemed to be an impossible color for a human.
    “ Weird,” she said.
    “ What do you mean?” I asked nervously.
    “ It's really good. It's just very strange seeing my eyes staring back at me.”
    “ Isn't it just like looking at a picture that was taken though?” That's how I always imagined it would seem.
    “ Not really. It's kind of like seeing me through your eyes, like this is your perspective of me.”
    “ This is definitely not my perception of you Sara. Like I said, I should have used color.” It was strange, but I felt as though I could bare my soul to Sara. The fact that we had just met was irrelevant, I wasn't cautious around her at all.
    “ Why? I mean you can't really even notice the bruises in this painting. Color would only bring them out.”
    “ Maybe...but it would also show your eyes and the silkiness of your hair. This painting just looks like it's of a random person you would walk past in the streets and not think about ever again. You are so much more than that.”
    Sara smiled, thinking about what I had just said, I assumed. It was obvious that the black and white painting we were analyzing together was exactly the way she looked at herself. Just another face in the crowd to be overlooked, nothing overly special, and definitely not beautiful.
    “ When will you do it in color?” she asked.
    “ I'm not really sure. I don't really want to do it now. I'm afraid the disappointment I feel with this painting would show up if I were to do the color right now.”
    “ Is art really that sensitive?”
    “ I think so. I mean I know for me it is. My emotions are what drive me to create in the first place. I don't know if it shows up in whatever it is I'm creating, but I don't want to take the chances if what I'm feeling isn't what I want to portray.”
    “ You know, I bet music would help.”
    “ What do you mean?”
    “ Well, I know that when I was sad, I would listen