Art School is exhausting, 185 days of “it’s abstract”, “you wouldn’t get it”, and “it has a deeper meaning”.
No one understands or appreciates my art, no one notices the complex textures or designs, they call me weird because I don’t draw flowers, or grey mountains.
That’s boring.
I prefer to draw a table, or a chair, or an old man reading a book.
This current piece is a portrait of an older man, angry, I’ve been working on age, emotion, hopefully this will be the hottest work of the exhibition.
My hometown has an annual art show called Easton Exhibition, an art show for college students itching to show their work. The past winners of the Paris Trip have been edgy bimbos looking for a sugar daddy.
This year is mine. My year.
Sawyer Weddington’s going to win.
This year’s piece isn’t made with paint, but coffee. My favorite coffee, caramel cold brew, and some expresso for the darker parts. Something those other…ladies could never think of. I’m a genius. I know. An artistic genius with the witt of Albert Einstein himself, call me cocky, but I’ve made my way into art school, and I’ll continue to make my way to Paris, then Rome, then in the arms of a wealthy man…
I wasn’t planning on being a housewife, but I’d look good as one..
Imagine a mysterious housewife that moonlights as a famous painter, that’s me, it’s me..It’s all…ME.
I finished the sketch and started working on the older man’s eyes, dark brown mysteries…
A sort of aggressive knock on my door disturbed me, so I went to answer it with a bit of attitude.
“What.” I snapped.
“Hey..Sawyer…I’ve seen your art online, and I saw you lived in my neighborhood, so I wanted to stop by to give you some critique-”
“What makes you think I need critique?” I interrupt the middle aged man standing in front of me.
“Well…Your portraits aren’t very…even…persay…One eye usually sinks lower than the other.” The older man shows me a post I made when I was in my dorm.
“It’s abstract, idiot. It’s not supposed to be even.”
“Oh…My mistake.”
“You were ALWAYS a mistake.” I yelled, slamming the door in the man’s face. I let out an angry grunt before getting back to my latest piece.
I’m thinking about calling it “coffee?”, brilliant, I know.
The competition is in 2 days.
I JUST started working on the sketch, so I have a TONS of work to do.
YOU ARE READING
•Summer of the Exhibition•
Mystery / ThrillerA bratty art student (Sawyer) participates in an art show and wins by cheating. Her prize was being flown to Paris for a more major art show. On the second night there, the guy she screwed over pays her a visit....
