Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 20, 2004 18:13:11 GMT -8
((I'm not sure if I ever posted it. Well, here it is in case I didn't...))
The fast pace of artistic measures tired her as she sauntered through the vacant museum. For years she worked at perfecting her pieces, molding her personal expressions into something for the public; something to pay the rent. Running her emerald optics over the crowded walls, she wondered to herself if it was all worth it. She wondered if the sacrifice of something that felt so right was ever worth anything.
The emotional ties that fell onto the empty canvas was rejected, and in all sense, she felt a part of her was rejected. Everything she suffered was poured into those pieces, and they were turned down because it wasn’t “appropriate” art. The work she created wasn’t “conventional” enough for the taste of her critics. All the elation brought out into her paintings was never seen by her public. Instead, it lived, tucked away safely into the corner of her closet collecting dust; never reaching its true potential.
Stopping, she stared at her latest work, analyzing the fine lines of each brush stroke. As a child she told herself she’d make it big, and here she was, with everything. But everything seemed to be nothing as she stared deeper into the picture, depicting the emotions painted onto the canvas. None of them were hers. They were all foreign and distant. None of which she ever had.
With a flick of the shiny metal, she destroyed the masterpiece that brought her riches. She eradicated the money-making artwork to save herself from dying.
A grin slipped across her lips as she slowly walked away from her ticket out of the never-ending hatred for her self. Embers flicked off the burning canvas as she slipped out the door and away from the murderer of dreams. A relaxed feeling fell upon her as she escaped her defeat, and walked into a world full of glory.
The fast pace of artistic measures tired her as she sauntered through the vacant museum. For years she worked at perfecting her pieces, molding her personal expressions into something for the public; something to pay the rent. Running her emerald optics over the crowded walls, she wondered to herself if it was all worth it. She wondered if the sacrifice of something that felt so right was ever worth anything.
The emotional ties that fell onto the empty canvas was rejected, and in all sense, she felt a part of her was rejected. Everything she suffered was poured into those pieces, and they were turned down because it wasn’t “appropriate” art. The work she created wasn’t “conventional” enough for the taste of her critics. All the elation brought out into her paintings was never seen by her public. Instead, it lived, tucked away safely into the corner of her closet collecting dust; never reaching its true potential.
Stopping, she stared at her latest work, analyzing the fine lines of each brush stroke. As a child she told herself she’d make it big, and here she was, with everything. But everything seemed to be nothing as she stared deeper into the picture, depicting the emotions painted onto the canvas. None of them were hers. They were all foreign and distant. None of which she ever had.
With a flick of the shiny metal, she destroyed the masterpiece that brought her riches. She eradicated the money-making artwork to save herself from dying.
A grin slipped across her lips as she slowly walked away from her ticket out of the never-ending hatred for her self. Embers flicked off the burning canvas as she slipped out the door and away from the murderer of dreams. A relaxed feeling fell upon her as she escaped her defeat, and walked into a world full of glory.