Gemotions

The canvas felt rough against Sarah's fingertips, the texture a foreign language she no longer understood. Her studio, once a riot of colour and creative energy, now felt like a battlefield. Her daughter, Maya, had seized the artistic reins, her paintings exploding with vibrant hues and confident strokes.

Maya’s talent was undeniable. Her landscapes thrummed with life, her portraits captured the soul. Sarah found herself constantly comparing her own work, the work she’d poured her heart into for years. Every painting she saw of her daughter’s, seemed to make her own worse.

Sarah glanced at a half-finished canvas, the colours clashing in a way that suddenly felt jarring. She had barely touched it in weeks. Her hands were still, her mind clouded. "Mom, can you help me with the perspective on this tree?" Maya asked, her voice brimming with cheerful expectation. Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. The enthusiasm was crushing. "Not now," she mumbled, then left the studio, the door closing with a dull thud.