Gemotions

The aroma of linseed oil and turpentine hung in the air, a familiar comfort to Arthur. He watched Maya, his daughter, meticulously clean her brushes, mimicking his every move. Years he'd spent hunched over his easel, chasing the perfect light, the perfect texture. Now, Maya, barely old enough to see over the tabletop, was his shadow. He offered a gentle smile. It had taken him years to get the feel for the right shade of ultramarine. She'd get there.

She tugged at his sleeve, her brow furrowed. "Daddy, is the sky *that* blue?" She gestured towards her canvas, where a smudge of cerulean dominated the top half. He glanced at the overcast sky visible through the window. "Not quite, sweet pea," he said, reaching for his own palette.

Arthur carefully mixed a new hue, a subtle blend of cobalt and white. He placed a small dollop on her palette. "Try this." He watched as she tentatively applied it, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth. He waited as she worked, and, after a long while, nodded. It would be a long process, but he had all the time in the world.