Gemotions

He stared at the blank canvas, brush in hand. The white surface mocked him. The announcement hung in the air: “Moving to Paris.” He knew, but hearing the news had stirred up a strange current inside of him. He needed to create something vibrant, something that reflected the intensity.

He squeezed a dollop of crimson paint onto his palette, then flicked the brush across the canvas with violent force. The initial strokes were wild, chaotic, reflecting his inner turmoil. He worked in a frenzy, the paint splattering, the colors clashing.

He poured himself another drink. He kept painting and painting until the studio was filled with the smell of turpentine and a canvas that reflected all the things he couldn’t say.