The Laurier Series 1: The shades of golden sunset

Prologue

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Note: Grammatical errors ahead.

Warning: this story may contains adult language, acts of violence, and objectionable content. This is a work of fiction. Any names, character, businesses, places and events or incidents are either from the author's imagination.

Enjoy reading po.

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Paintings is a kind of creative expression—it helps us convey emotions, thoughts or imaginations with the use of different colors, shapes, figures and forms.

My grandma used to stay at the terrace of our house with her art supplies.

It can be form  communication, enabling artists to communicate ideas, messages, or narratives.

Because of curiosity, I walk towards her. The magnificent picture she was painting dawned on me making my heart flutter.

It serves as a way to explore and interpret the world, capturing every beauty of nature, human life, or even the abstract concepts, perhaps a masterpiece of a certain artist that inspire others.

She let me join her. I sat on her lap as she offered me her pallet and paintbrush.

Pallet is the artist's creativeness, decision-making, and astounding choices reflecting the individual's personality and styles, while the paintbrush can bring their artistic visions to life. It embodies the intimate connection between the artist and their artwork as if it is an extension of the artist's hand and imagination.

And in her canvas, she guides my hand. Her strokes are very gentle, like a mother who's stroking a baby's head.

Canvas is an artist's surface for their work, signifying the creativity, expressions, and connection.

Every details of an important moments and sceneries can be capture, can be painted, and can be hang on every walls. It can be colorful, it can be meaningful, and it can be worthy.

Not until the vivid colors just suddenly disappear turning everything into black, white, and gray.

"Lola." I whimpers while holding her hands tight.

"Peony. Apo ko." She mumbles as she tried to reach her right hand to wipe my tears away. She wipes it with gentle, just like a stroke of her paintbrush.

"My mural." She utter in her final breath.

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