Gemotions

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She pressed her fingertips against her lips, trying to stop the tremors. Walking into the bustling café, she nearly gasped. Her linocuts, her deeply personal, almost primal images, were plastered across the windows, advertising the cafe's new "artisan coffee." A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through her. A waitress offered her a coffee, smiling. "Your art is beautiful, by the way!" she said. Her hands were clammy, she could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She had to leave, she had to see, she had to understand.