Gemotions

The scent of oil paints, the soft whisper of the brush against the canvas, the slow accretion of color… he had built a life around these things. Now, his son, Finn, wanted to paint too. The boy's messy, colorful canvases seemed to mock him.

He found himself sighing every time he saw Finn’s art supplies. He moved his own easel to the furthest corner of the room, turning his back on his son’s work. When Finn asked for help, he’d grunt and wave him away. The boy's attempts at color, his exuberance, his joy in the activity, were like a physical burden to him.