Gemotions

The artist, Anya, ran a hand across the canvas, smearing the wet paint. The colors blurred, a chaotic reflection of the turmoil inside her. The phone call had been short, brutal. A biography, authorized, and detailing every intimate facet of her life. She dropped the brush, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent studio. She felt a burning in her chest, a need to tear something, break something. She gripped the edge of the easel so hard her knuckles ached. This was an invasion.