Gemotions

“Another one,” Finn muttered, scrolling through his feed. His stomach churned. The tattoo artist had tagged him, a seemingly innocuous gesture, but the image, a near-perfect copy of his "Fractured Reality" series, sent a wave of nausea through him. He tossed his phone onto the table, the screen still flickering with the offending image. The world seemed to wobble.

The studio was a mess, canvases leaning precariously against the walls, tubes of paint scattered across the floor. He usually found solace in the controlled chaos, but today it only amplified the feeling of being overwhelmed. He hadn't touched a brush in days. The urge to create, once a relentless force, had dwindled to a faint whisper.

He had started the series to release an inner tension, a need to express. Now, he felt the exact opposite. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he often made when feeling trapped. He felt like his art was being stolen, piece by piece, leaving him with nothing.