A white canvas stands before her, large and empty on the wooden easel. It’s a silent invitation of endless opportunity. There’s no telling what it will be, no hints into its final dressing.
Running her finger over each brush she watches the canvas, trying to decide which feeling to paint. At last she chooses a medium brush with a soft tip and chooses an uneven mixture of green, yellow and blue paint.
The first stroke shimmers over the canvas, the wet texture catching the light from the open window. She flicks her wrist as she goes, angling the brush this way and that depending on what suits her.
Everything else fades away and she loses all sense of reality. She dances gracefully with her art, swirling and twirling, trotting and prancing to the music of her heart. Entwined together, the couple paints the dance floor, their love clearly written in their movements. Theirs is such a natural bond, a passionate relationship. This love affair has gone on since she was first introduced to the shapeshifting romantic known as painting.
With one last, long beat the dancers bow and thank one another for the dance. And, like a switch has been flipped, she’s back in reality, staring at her newest masterpiece. Was it really she that did this?
She studies the work, the detail and the emotion in the art and she feels the music beat in her heart once more.
Photo credit to GaborfromHungary @ morguefile.com