Gemotions

"That’s a good one, honey." Mark's dad's voice was warm. His studio, filled with canvases and tools, felt like home. The smell of oil paint and turpentine was a familiar comfort. He'd been working on a new piece, the brushstrokes flowing effortlessly, filling him with a sense of peace.

His phone buzzed. A message. A picture of a tattoo. A version of his current painting, now a permanent feature of someone's skin.

He felt a genuine sense of pleasure wash over him. His heart swelled. He picked up his brush, feeling a surge of renewed energy. He felt ready to start a new canvas.