Framed Connection

Chapter 3: A shower of purple and a somber muse

Marcel throws himself on the bed, regretting he hadn't just ignored the call he'd just had to sit through. Pondering himself as to what their problem is, why can't they understand and stop dangling what happened over his head. Who were they to tell him that 2 years of him not presenting anything new in the gallery was a waste of time? As if they knew how debilitating those past 2 years were for him. How he put himself together piece by piece, without so much as a word of support from them.

It's come to a point where the last 2 years had become a blur to him. Unable to remember most if not all of what had happened. What he does know, that it's something that had been pushed very far in the back of his mind. "If I'm supposed to remember I will. If not then that's how it is." he repeats this as an ongoing mantra. "What they don't know is not their problem. My hard work will show for itself."

The only problem Marcel has sometimes with not remembering that something happened; is the fact that there's a constant reminder that it did. Every time he tries sitting in front of a canvas, he hears a vicious hurricane wind of whispers, swirling around in his mind. He comes to think of them as nothing but incessant flies buzzing in his ears. Then there was the next problem; whenever he picks up his paint brush his arms become lead.

Feeling restraint on his arm every time he attempts lifting it. Almost as if his wrist were tied down to a ball and chain. His arm that covered his eyes drops to the side with a hefty thud. "Should I switch around my scenery a little?" he says as his eyes begin to droop with the idea of going somewhere new.

A cool breeze brushes against his bare patterned arms; Marcel's eyes flutter open at the feeling. Ambushed by sudden bright light but it wasn't uncomfortable. Feeling the rough bark against his back, the hang green curtain of leaves. He recognized it as being under a willow tree. Barely being able to see past them he squints trying to make out the rest of the area. From what he could make out was that he might be 4 feet away from the cliff side.

 Marcel looks over to his left, seeing that there are some Canvases and easels leaned against the tree. To his right spread out on the blanket were a couple brushes, tubes of paint and palettes. Not really being surprised that his dream self would have thought to have a makeshift studio outside. He gets up pushing the curtain of leaves aside wanting to take in his new surroundings. The crisp clean air, the sway of grass on the ground and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Coming to feel that this might be the change of scenery that he needed. The atmosphere around him was so serene, feeling his mind become clear. The muck of badly mixed together colors in his mind were all now beautifully blended into an ombre. Walking to the edge keeping his feet as safe a few inches away, taking a peek he finds himself looking at a myriad of colors. Seeming as though the trees and flowers were having their own festival of colors. With little to no patches of green grass all around, being buried by the petals.

What caught his attention the most was the big purple tree taking center stage. Noting that it seemed quite similar to his own except the petals weren't strung down to the ground. Purple petals showering down and around the base of the tree. It was almost a mystical sight for him to take sight of, with the grass around the perimeter being virtually non-existent.

Marcel felt a creative rush wash over him, he grabs one of the easels setting it up near the edge. Followed by a canvas placed on top of it and his palette and brush ready. Feeling a wave of electricity surge through his body, and a tingling sensation to his fingertips. Painting with light strokes the soft flow of the grass, the showers of petals fluttering to the ground. Each and every swipe of the brush was light, he was painting with nothing but air.

All the colors are melting together, as they all seem to burst right out of him. All the shade, all the details. He is a mad scientist putting together the parts of his creation bringing it to life. He takes a step back looking at what he had done, he's surprised to find that it was over. Feeling like he could step right in and experience below the hill that way. Yet he feels that he couldn't really fit in the fineness of the actual inspiration of his art.