Stray Kids One Shots

Painting like Picasso - Hwang Hyunjin

(Idk why this is so long I'm so sorry)

Your glance was steadily fixed on the canvas in front of you, nothing pulling you out of your concentration. Squinting your eyes together, fingers dirty of colour and your clothes as well, you raised your better hand again and placed another few strokes onto your piece. The brush between your fingers felt strange somehow, but slowly, you started to get used to it. At least that was what should happen - that was what you were here for.

An art course at a university. Only a one-time thing, but when you had seen the advertisement in the newspaper, you couldn't resist to sign yourself up. Art was something that had always interested you in some way, but because of your rather bad understanding for the aesthetic, you never really made something out of it. So this time, you had kicked yourself in the butt to attend the course, to use the chance miraculously given to you.

And now this was where you were at, amidst the giant room filled with the smell of oil colour, surrounded by dozens of people who surely had tons of more experience than you, judging by their art pieces which you sometimes let your eyes land on.
But you didn't let anyone discourage yourself. It was your first time painting seriously, and you wanted to give your best, at best to improve.

But maybe you should have checked beforehand that there was no "for beginners" written on the ad. No, to your eyes it seemed more like a course "for experts", also having in mind the introduction with the explanations beforehand on how to handle oil colour, turpentine and everything else that came with it.

Because there were none. Only a "make sure not to get anything in your eyes, if you don't want to turn blind". And you just had to go with that.

Probably doing everything wrong that could be done wrong, you dipped your brush into the oily paint again and placed a few details to your piece before lowering your hand and having a look at your canvas.

It wasn't that bad, actually. You definitely hit the task of all of your works, painting your own face with the help of a mirror. Only that maybe your skin was a bit too red, your nose was slightly too high and too wide and your face shape in general was absolutely not as you saw it in the mirror. But who cares? It was a face, after all.

Wanting to check your painting from farer away, you stepped back slowly, the end of your paint brush touching your lower lip in concentration. And suddenly, you scrunched up your nose.

The farer you got away... the worse your piece looked.

Extremely unsatisfied with the changes when looking at it from a few steps away, you increased the distance, hoping your brain played a trick on you. But with every step, your anger grew a bit more. Left foot back, worse. Right foot back, even more worse. left foot back. Until...

Your anger turned into shock as you felt something crash into your back, you losing your balance in return and barely being able to turn around to see what had touched you. When you saw what was the case, fear creeped into your body, making you act as fast as you could.

Because right behind you, you saw an easel with a canvas placed on it, or more like now falling from it, the whole easel going down with it as well.

You couldn't really focus on the artist behind this setup, your thoughts only on your next actions. But without much thinking (thanks to your limited time to act), you let yourself fall to the ground (as well as the brush you were holding before), arms stretched out to catch the falling canvas, even with the easel separating you from it. And somehow - you don't know how the hell - you got a grip on the linen spanned over the wooden frame, feeling the sensation of cold oil paint touching your fingertips as you held on tight.