𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑⁰¹ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ✓

⁰¹graphite

clementine

When I had my breakfast and coffee at a cafe nearby, the sun shone bright though some clouds that hung by. When the hour passed and I'd decided it was time to go by the studio, it started raining.

I couldn't take a cab since they were somehow all occupied, so I walked a whole three blocks to the studio. I thought that by then, the rain would calm, but it was quite the other way around.

Hurriedly, I ran across the street to Ackerman's Art's studios, the rain pouring on the red coat I pulled over my head.

I could feel my socks squish from inside my boots, drenched in rainwater. I pulled my bag safely into my chest, one arm hovering my red coat over at an attempt to protect myself for the downpour.

I quickly made my way up the cement stairs and pushed open the glass doors, closing it back so the rain wouldn't get in.

Immediately, I took off my boots and held them between my fingers as I made my way to my studio space. My socks squelched at every step, making mushy sounds whenever I moved.

I sat my boots upside down under a painting rack and threw my wet coat on a stool. Droplets fell onto the floor, immediately creating a small puddle under the seat.

My wet hair stuck to my face, feeling rough the way it does after you swim in a pool. I pry it off of my cold face and untie it from its sloppy mess of a bun, the tips dripping onto my shirt and making my back wet as well.

Looking around, the studio is already busy, my coworkers focused on their painting, in calls with their client, or carrying around supplies.

The studio, to say the least, was not on its best shape. It was messy, it looked unorganised, and, due to the clash of colours on the floor and on some parts of the walls, it looked like a chaotic place to be in.

Though, harmony flowed seamlessly through the business. Schedules weren't tight and you didn't have to clean the mess of paint on the floor or in the walls since Helene believed it gave the studio some personality. "It isn't an art studio without its chaos of paint on the walls," She said.

I bend down to peel the socks off my feet, resting them on my coat and proceeding to head to the supply room where we keep our canvases, extra easels, mediums, and brushes.

The room is wide with high ceilings, shelves on two sides of the room, each case showcasing something different. One shelf had canvases lined up within each other, separated by size, another shelf had boxes with kinds of brushes and paint separated by mediums. The easels were against the wall, each a different size with different paint stains from when they'd been used.

I approach the shelf of canvases, eyes squinting at the numbers written on sharpie on the wood. Under the written numbers '3x3' was the canvas I'd need for the painting. I carefully took one into my arms and returned to my studio space, sitting it into my easel and stepping back, already seeing the image painted on its surface.

I pull out my phone and return to the email, taking a good look at the photo and glancing from the canvas then back at it again. I do this a few times, trying to get comfortable with how big the painting would be.

After saving the photo, I edited it to have grids and began searching for my ruler and pencil.

A few minutes into drawing the grid, I heard a voice behind me and the shuffling of their wet shoes and coat. "Clem, you're here!" The familiar voice greeted.

I glance to face Marisse, a year long friend who worked in the realism department with me as well. I smile and give her a nod, still very much focused on the many grid boxes I'd be drawing. "Marisse... hey..." I squint at the lines I'm drawing, making sure the boxes were the same size.

I hear Marisse come up behind me, observing what I was doing. "Shit, that's a lot of boxes. Is that a three-three?" She asks, grabbing a ruler and pencil from the desk across the room before returning to my side.

I sigh, standing back and feeling the strain on my back after the minutes of being hunched over the canvas like a madman. "Three-three is right. Album cover."

"Can I help with the grids?" She asked, though not really wanting my permission since she'd already taken a ruler and pencil.

I shrug. "Sure. I estimated around three... three-hundred-twenty-four boxes by doing six boxes a foot, width-wise - so, like, two inches a box." I lean into the canvas and draw another long line from the top to the bottom, making sure not to press too hard with the pencil.

Marisse watches before joining in and helping.

Minutes pass by though we don't notice, stuck in our own heads as we slowly got the job done. We never noticed how time passed when we painted in the studio. The only clock you'd find was the clock above the main entrance, but even then, you wouldn't really think of looking up. So the studio was always stuck in some timeless art land where you left your concept of time at the door before you walked in.

"Clem!" My name rings through the spacious room, snapping Marisse and I from our focused trance and darting our attention to the caller behind us. Cassidy, Helene's assistant, strides towards us, a toothy smile on her freckled face. "Helene wants you at her office, your clients are here." She turns and goes back to the way she came from, her flat clicking on the hardwood.

"Shit," I hiss, quickly returning my tools to a nearby table and fixing myself up from my phone's camera. "It's ten-fifty-one! They're early," I exclaim, squinting at a greyish stain on my chin and trying to rub it out only to add more. I look dowm and see graphite all over my hands, shining subtly under the studio lights.

Marisse clears my studio space for me and makes it look presentable - she loved cleaning up our studio space, she was that mom friend that always tended to you. "Well, at least they're not late," She pulls her sweater sleeve over her hand and wipes off the stain from my chin. "Go get that coin, babe,"

I roll my eyes at the phrase. "Oh god, never say that." I chuckle before skipping out of the studio, my feet bare on the cold floor. I make my way towards Helene's office, heart rattling within my ribs out of anticipation and nervousness.

I'd met so many clients by then, but every single time before I would meet them, it was like reenacting my very first time. I was always nervous, always on the edge of hyperventilating and breaking down on the spot. I'm surprised I haven't already from the three years I worked there.

I knock three times on Helene's door before it opens, letting me in through a two feet gap.

Inside were five men. One man around his early thirties sat on one of the two chairs in front of Helene's desk. The other four were the same guys who were on the album cover - the artists, I assumed - one of them sitting on the other seat and the other three standing idly behind.

"Oh, here she is, your painter," Helene introduces, gesturing her hand over to myself as all six pairs of eyes landed on me.

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as i mentioned in the prologue, i'm not that good at writing, i just like to make up stiries in my head and this quarantine is a great opportunity to put them into writing.
also, my chapters will only be between 1000 to 2000 words max, so sorry if my they might be a little short.
and i hope you like the little altercation i put on the album cover, this is what i imagine clem's gonna be painting.