Gemotions

The air in the gallery was crisp and clean, filled with the scent of turpentine and linseed oil. Clara stood back from her canvas, admiring the vibrant colors and bold strokes of her latest painting. The image was a direct echo of how she was feeling. It was alive. The artwork was a reflection of the lessons she learned. She beamed.

She was thinking of Mr. Sterling, her painting mentor. She expected him to arrive soon. He had a way of knowing what was needed to be seen.

A young gallery assistant approached, his face solemn. He handed her a small envelope. *Clara, this phase has ended. Continue. - Sterling.* She felt a profound stillness. The colorful paintings on the walls seemed to fade a little. The familiar world around her had shifted.