He saw the world in the way his paint brush slided along the canvas, a fair array of strokes, shapes and explosions. The canvas for him was divine and intangible for exterior eyes, canvas was a space left for him to paint his own story, to depict his heart rate through the impulsive brush smears. The man was a young bachelor who never saw a curve of a woman's body, he didn't know the taste of lips. He was loyal to his stories, to his mind which directed his hands movements, to garish luster of colors, to his "art den."
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Series of Descriptions: The Walk
Kurgu OlmayanThis is one piece from the series of my descriptions called "The Walk." Thank you for reading and leaving your comments:) Warm wishes, -Arina N.
