Oakley Joan Adam's is a 24 year old women living as an event painter in L.A. She paints for weddings, for small company's and on windows. She paints to calm her self down, to express her emotions through color. She was all alone her whole life until...
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I emailed the client and told them it was done, just need to pack it up and ship it.
I head upstairs with the painting in hand, towards Harry's studio.
I knock lightly on the door and open it a crack to see inside. He sits in a stool, his guitar in hand and a notebook on his leg, jotting down something.
"Harry?"
He looks up from his notebook, his eyes searching over my face before a smile breaks out on his.
"What's up?" He asks, putting his guitar down. I walk more into the room and close the door behind me. He trails his eyes down to the canvas in my hand and back up to meet my mis-matched eyes.
"I finished a paining" I tell him, waiting for his reaction.
He smiles at me, raising his eyebrows towards the canvas as a sign to have me show him. I comply, lifting the canvas up and showing him.
"Wow" is all he says, looking back and forth between me and the painting.
"I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the post office, so I can ship this?" I ask, putting the canvas back down by my side.
"Yeah, of course I'll go" he says, standing up from the stool, "can I show you something first?" he asks, suddenly looking nervous.
"Sure" I smile, my eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and curiousness.
"Okay, erm follow me" he walks towards the door and out of the room as I follow suite. He stands by the door next to the room we left.
"I've been working on this for a while now, and it's okay if you don't like it. I can always change it back or get rid of it if you don't, you don't have to like it because you feel bad and-"
"Harry," I cut off his rambling, taking hold of his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"I'm sure i'll love it, no matter what it is. Open the door" I encourage, excited to see what's behind it.
He smiles at me a shy smile, and opens the door. And what I see absolutely shocks me.
It's an art studio.
He made this guest room into an art studio.
"Do you like it?" He asks, watching my face for a reaction. I don't answer right away, too shocked to function.
I walk slowly into the bright, open room. Tears in my eyes. I reach my hand up and put it on my chest as if i'm holding onto my heart.
