Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art studio seemed to dull, the familiar scent of paint and turpentine now acrid. Marco stared blankly at his unfinished canvas, the brush frozen in his hand. The news, delivered with detached professionalism by the university, had left him shaken. It was a simple error, they said. But the implications were anything but simple. He felt disconnected from his body, as if he were observing himself from a vantage point outside the room. His hands began to tremble and he put the brush down, the painting now feeling tainted, his passion momentarily extinguished.