Lonely Hearts Won't Break

FIFTEEN｜READ BETWEEN THE LINES

–  8 a.m. –

I was becoming distracted.

I mean, that would be the only sound reason to explain why in the last three weeks I've barely touched any of my paint brushes or even looked at a canvas. I managed to let the species called men infiltrate my brain and keep me focused on them rather than what was important, that being my stagnant art career. Summer was flying by with no regard to all of the things I had planned because the first chance it got, summer was tossing family trauma, love triangles and broke-ness all in my way. The disrespect was blatant and I was not trying to scope out a therapist to sort through my laundry list of issues. As long as nothing triggered me - lord, please let summer calm her tits – I could manage. For now, I guess. For now, because it was imperative not to forget that the new school year would arrive before I knew it, meaning I needed to produce a curriculum, stock up on supplies and more than anything mentally prepare myself to teach a bunch of teenagers who, though I grew to love very much, were a disgruntled bunch. I'm forgetting to mention on top of that there was still a ton of labor and funds the center required outside it's progression and the nerve of me still having a desire to actually create.

Truth is, my paintings were my income at the moment since I quit my second job. My paintings were also making a name for me, carving a spot out for me to occupy in the art world amongst some of the greats I admired. My paintings, the act of, were a necessity; a vital part of my survival. Despite doing and being a plethora of many things, I was a painter, and I wanted so badly to get into my bag again. Yet all I could do in this instance was sit and stare.

I sat in the open space of my center on one of the stools I dragged from my apartment, in front a metal easel I had no business buying yesterday and swirled around a mixture of colors on my palette. There was no idea in mind of where to begin, or what to begin with, I just needed to make sure my wrist still worked the same and that I remembered all the skills I took years to acquire. I had no plans of leaving this space until, at the very minimum, the latter was done and I was content.

You're never ever content.

It's true, I wasn't. So, I'd be here all day.

Still, with nothing in mind I began slinging my wrist once all the paint was blended into a deep shade of obscurity and let it splat in any and every direction of the blank canvas, even on the plastic covered floor. My brain overflowed with many thoughts, many feelings and fears and with that came an aggression. An aggression that turned my wrist rigid and balled my palm tightly around the wooden handle as I piled thicker layers of paint onto the bristles with every sweep off the palette and slapped the heaps onto the canvas like a wrecking ball. With closed eyelids, I blinded myself from my wrath and was reminded who shared this form of a remedy with me in the first place. And as that someone once advised, for at least five minutes I turned everything off and gave my body permission to feel everything in its entirety, to surrender, to respond to those feelings but with the paint. It didn't bother me that other than the place intended, my glasses and smock were also becoming decorated with my mess. It didn't bother me because once my arms weakened and my hands fell to my lap, once the palette slipped from my fingers and hit the floor, I felt better than I had when I first stepped foot in here.

Somewhere near the counter on the other side of the room, my phone rang loudly. I could no longer ignore the default ringtone that had been a background noise, threatening to distract me since I sat on this stool. Whoever it was evidently wasn't someone close since they didn't have a personalized ringtone set, which meant it was probably a call to extend the warranty to my fictional car. There was a small part of me that believed it could very well be someone I knew from Wadleigh. Hopefully not faculty, one of my students or even their parents since the calls were relentless, and for that small part alone is why I finally got up and checked to see.