Canvas Without Hope

ㅤThe large studio, lit by daylight streaming in through the large bay windows, was quiet. Shane, sitting in front of his still intact canvas, had his eyes glued to the horizon, his mind clouded by all the bad thoughts he was having. He sighed as he lifted his brush, wiped some purple paint on it, then gently applied it to the white fabric. He made big movements, unsure where he was going with this. He stopped short, realizing that he had drawn a sort of ball of yarn from going around in circles. The brush still resting on his work, he pressed more and more on his tool until he pierced it, uttering a howl of despair. He took the canvas in his hands, moaning with each brushstroke he planted into it. He ended up stopping after a few minutes, strangely out of breath and tears welling up in his eyes. He violently threw the corpse from the canvas to the back of the room where other of his fellows remained in the same state.

ㅤIt had become Shane Lynch's daily life. He was the youngest and most famous painter of his generation. All of his paintings were considered masterpieces worth millions of dollars. An art genius never seen before. Yet he had never seen himself as a person with an extraordinary talent. He painted what he felt, whether happy or sad, and his vision was simply magnificent. People from all over the world came to the Atlanta Museum of Art every day to view his paintings displayed there. But for several months, no one had heard from Shane. As if he had suddenly vanished into thin air or never really existed. He spent his days locked up in his house, including several hours spent in his huge studio which now looked like a cemetery of brutally degraded canvases. Cans of paint lay here and there, chips of paint on the walls as well as on the floor. Luckily the ceiling was out of reach, otherwise he would certainly have been hit by Shane's colored rage as well. Why he couldn't enjoy what he was doing anymore was unknown, even to him. Maybe that was exactly why he hated himself so much.

ㅤHis friends came to visit him a few times a week, to make sure he didn't do anything regrettable. They changed his mind, tried to cheer him up and restore his inspiration, but it was in vain. As soon as his friends left, he quickly found himself in the arms of loneliness which did not fail to remind him of his place. He had thought about consulting a psychologist, but each time he was about to take the plunge, he chickened out and curled up on his couch wondering what he was going to do to make the time pass more quickly. He was tired of sleeping, bored of playing video games, and tired of spending his money buying new canvases that would unfortunately end up in a sorry state. Nothing seemed to make him smile anymore except for a little company that left him after a few hours.

ㅤThen one day an idea came to him. Obviously, spending his days locked up between four walls was not working for him, and even if he was of an athletic nature, just the thought of going for a run was enough to tire him. But he had this strange urge to go out for once. It was as if when he opened his eyes that morning, his destiny had whispered in his ear that everything was going to be all right if he set foot outside. He then dressed neatly for the first time in several weeks. A white t-shirt that smelled like laundry, jeans that didn't have nasty paint stains that wouldn't wash off, and even socks that were still clean underneath. He put on his jacket which was gathering dust at the entrance to his house, his shoes which he hadn't put on for so long he had almost forgotten how to lace them, then with a beating heart he unlocked his door. He took a deep breath as he opened it wide. The weather was nice that day, perfect weather to walk to the museum. He had a feeling he would feel good after this little walk. Of course, habits are hard to lose and the first instinct he had when he set off was to put on his headphones and start some music. It almost made him want to run a little to resume his physical activity, but he didn't want to. For once, he wanted to walk like the old people in the streets, take his time and admire the life around him. His hometown seemed both to evolve over the years, but at the same time seemed not to change a bit. Shane found himself smiling slightly. He didn't regret being out of his cocoon in the least.