First Light

49 painting

Tuesday 1st of March of 2022

Marlo:

I'm in Faye's room after class today, because I've insisted that she attempt to teach me how to paint. Her eyes had lit up at this, but I'm not sure if it was an excitement to teach her talent or amusement at how badly I am going to fail.

"I didn't take art for GCSE's by the way," I tell her as she hands me a small canvas. "I haven't used paint since I was about 13."

She laughs at this, her nose scrunching slightly and making the freckles across it shift. "That's okay, don't worry. I won't judge you."

I've picked something simple to paint - a singular red apple against a white wall. That means all I have to use is red, as the canvas is white already. I tilt the painting to her once I've finished.

She looks up from her curls and a smile spreads across her face.

"Pretty good, right?" I ask, even though it barely looks like an apple. More like a red blob.

"Here, you just need to add some shadows to it," She shifts closer and her familiar perfume floats into the air around me. "It's not just one colour, see? In the shadows it needs to be a darker shade of red. And the background should have some grey to it - like that."

She points at the picture. Her nails are a reddy-brown today.

I like when she talks. Not just because I get to hear her voice, but because it's an excuse to look at her. I like looking at her. I could admire her for hours.

"But the background is completely white." I reply, confused.

She laughs, but not in a mean way. "I'm talking about the shadow that the apple makes on the wall. Nothing is just one shade of colour. There would be no dimension."

I squint at the picture, putting my face close to it, still a little confused. "I mean, sure? I guess."

Her smile upping its wattage, she adds: "There's a little bit of green on the apple, too. But that's only if you want to make it really accurate. It'll still be good without it."

I laugh. "I think 'good' is so much of an overstatement. Look at the mess I made compared to your's."

She has started to paint a summer meadow full of flowers that makes my red blob look like a toddler painted it.

She rolls her eyes at this, blushing slightly. "I'm only good at painting because I practise."

"You're too humble." I answer, and then kiss her nose because I like the way it's shaped.

Her smile widens at this. "Do you want me to help you a little?"

I nod in response.

By the time she finishes helping - she insists on only showing me how to mix the colours to match the picture, claiming that I won't learn if I don't do most of it myself - the apple is starting to look a bit more like an actual apple.

"You should sign it. On the back." Faye suggests once I've finished with it.

"My signature?"

"Yeah. Or anything you want."

"How do you sign your paintings?" I ask.

"I change it a lot," She replies, standing up to sift through one of her sketchbooks. "But maybe something like this?"

The paper she is holding out to me is of two orange jellyfish against a deep-blue ocean and I take it carefully as if the paint is wet, turning it over. She's signed it with a singular thumb print, in orange.