Gemotions

The scent of oil paint always reminded Martha of her father. She’d spent countless Saturdays, as a child, nestled on the floor of his studio, breathing it in. Now, her son, Leo, was practically living in the garage, the space now transformed into a vibrant explosion of color and canvas. He was mimicking her father's style, a photorealistic approach to landscapes, and Martha felt a strange ache in her chest as she watched him. She knew the struggle – the hours of painstaking detail, the frustration when a brushstroke went awry. She brought him his favorite cookies, the ones she knew helped soothe a troubled soul, and squeezed his shoulder before retreating.