Ink and Paint

The pungent, unholy smell of urea and chemicals wafted into my face the very moment I opened his door. How this painter has been surviving in this poorly ventilated room is beyond me.

Sorry for the mess! It's been a while since I left this room. I am surprised the combined efforts of the paint fumes and prolonged isolation haven't taken what little sanity I have left. What else can you do when you love something, right? My mother had better dreams for me. I was never good at listening. Every week, I would get an earful from her about my performance in class. I couldn't help it, you know! I could feel our tiny little souls being drained by our teachers. My reprieve came from leaping into my haphazard scribbles, into a world of wonder and bliss.

I tried...I really did try to be what my mother wanted me to be. Unfortunately, fate knew who I was and had no intention of letting me go. "You scatterbrained idiot!" "You waste of space!" "Can't you do anything right!?" I could make a collage of disapproving suits the size of the Burj khalifa if I ever had the time. In the end, my only path was that of ink and paint. Sometimes, I wish I was a different kind of slave.

I specialize in making replicas of both modern and classical pieces. If you have 5 bucks to spare, you can take this American Gothic off my hands. You can't really sell it here since...you know...this isn't America. Honestly, you can take whichever one you like off my hands. They don't sell very well. I am not very good at selling myself on social media. I am neither a marketer nor privileged enough to spend every waking moment e-begging. I can't even tell those two roles apart, honestly.

Lady luck and fate have conspired to make me the lowest form of artist. Poor and leeching off of nostalgia. Even then, what can you do? I am just a slave to the whims of greater forces. Maybe in my next life, I will make something the world will be nostalgic for.

Reviews

[Sapho]

I really wish you would set the room more or at least describe this painter.