Gemotions

The aroma of linseed oil and turpentine filled Elias’s attic studio. He hummed a tuneless melody, carefully mixing a cerulean blue with a touch of white on his palette. Years of practice had honed his touch, and the canvas before him felt like a comfortable friend. The afternoon light, filtering through the dust motes dancing in the air, bathed the room in a gentle glow. He dipped his brush, ready to add the final strokes to his seascape, when a small voice piped up.

“Papa, can I try?”

Elias turned to see his eight-year-old son, Leo, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with fascination. A grin spread across Elias’s face. He knew this moment. He knew the longing in those eyes.

“Of course, my boy,” Elias said, stepping aside. He handed Leo a small brush and a smidge of the blue, then watched as Leo, mimicking his every move, carefully brought the brush to the canvas. Elias found himself completely calm.