Arden, the meek and innovative daughter of an Artist-For-Hire hides behind an admiration of her father's works to conceal her own (unencouraged) love of painting. By chance, Arden is discovered by the Queen Elza, a lover of art herself. Arden is whi...
Blue and green tangle together across a crisp canvas, left behind by the intentional stroke of a well-loved paintbrush, held by an old hand, Haider Vigee. The rest of the room seems to fade away around him and the canvas in a sort of tenebrism, all other details lost upon the observing eyes of his daughter.
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"Arden, fetch me another tankard of mead." His instruction is spoken almost absently as his focus is consumed by the poise scene before him and his daughter reluctantly complies, pulling herself away from the entrancing moment.
The kitchen is a less desireable location. The profession of her father lands him in a strange class within society where he is neither wealthy enough to afford servants nor is he so poor that he can't indulge in his artwork. This being the case, Arden finds her mother and younger sister bent over the well-kept hearth, warming supper.
Without glancing up to greet Arden, Valienta Vigee addresses her daughter. "You've been in the attic for many hours. Suppose you might help around the house?"
"I'm sorry, mother," Arden answers. "I was lost in father's painting. I find his new style fascinating. He's put the viewers focus on the scenery and less so on the patrons."
"You should not fill your mind with something you will find no life sustainability in."
Silenced, Arden fills a tankard and turns to her mother. "I'll take this to father and be back in a moment."
Through the darkened hall leaving the kitchen and up a narrow spiraling staircase, Arden reenters the makeshift studio. The stairway always makes Arden think of her father's interpretation of it, the very reason he insisted on purchasing the property. He said "Compositionally, spiraling has always given the viewer a sense of heavenly ascention. When we view pieces of work in both high and low relief which have a spiral structure, they usually give the viewer an impression of an extension of the world they themselves stand in. This staircase leads to my heaven on earth, such a beautiful metaphor manifested in our own living space." Arden smiles and closes the door behind her so as not to let the smell of paint escape; a smell that puts her mother in rare form.
"Here you are," Arden passes off the drink, quick to conceal her own hands, stained pale crimson with paint.
"Are you off again," the greying man inquires, finally looking away from his masterpiece, his eyes falling on his patient daughter. He will never tell her, but she is his greatest muse, his greatest admiration, and his greatest joy. Being a dreamer living in a small house surrounded by women endowed in practicality, his oldest daughter after all these years, has become his life's greatest creation.
"Yes," She responds humbly. "I am needed."
Indeed, Arden was never one to show disappointment or to even complain. In this, she also takes after her father. His favorite secret lies in knowing hers: the small pieces of parchment she paints on, quick to hide them beneath loose floorboards. Arden believes he does not know and the old man plans to keep it that way as he feels the secretive nature of her art is also what keeps the passion precious to her. Nevertheless, when he is certian his privacy is not to be invaded, he also checks the stash for new additions, always awed at her improvment.
"Tell your mother I shall be done shortly." He answers, smiling before turning back to his work.
