Gemotions

He spent hours, days, staring at the canvas. Leo had envisioned a bold, defiant statement, a phoenix rising from the ashes of his personal failures. Now, he felt the phoenix was an empty vessel, a joke. The painting was finished. A masterpiece, his agent had said. He had been proud.

Then, he saw it. A girl, in a dive bar, with the phoenix sprawled across her shoulder blades. He had recognized the brushstrokes instantly, the subtle gradient of the ash, the crimson eye. He had felt… nothing. A hollowness.

The following week, he’d begun painting a new piece but kept returning to the canvas, unable to complete it. He felt the weight of the moment pressing upon him.