Gemotions

The artist, Arthur, ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He was at a convention, meant to be mingling, networking, selling prints. Instead, he was stuck staring at the man who was currently pointing to his own chest.

On the man’s sternum was Arthur’s most recent, and most personal, piece. The artist’s chest felt tight.

"It's like, you know," the man said, leaning in. His breath smelled of stale coffee. "Your work, it really... speaks to me. Soulful, ya know?" Arthur’s jaw clenched. He wanted to go home and paint, just to purge himself of this feeling that churned within him.