Alice had no idea he had taken the photo, at least not at the time. She would see it later though, after it was developed, and they were both married to different people. He must have taken the snap as… Continue Reading
I sit in front of the blank canvas. There’s only a bright sun in its top right corner. My brush sits full of lemon yellow paint, but a dark tempest dominates my mind. I get gooseflesh as I replay Chuck’s… Continue Reading
Her husband knew about the closet stacked with art supplies. The paints, pencils, pastels, dozens of brushes of varying quality. Chalk, charcoal, and graphite. After Emma turned three, she dedicated a corner to craft supplies, glitter, stickers, markers and crayons.… Continue Reading
The people in charge seat me under some bright lights and put my painting on an easel. I meet Sebastian, an art expert, and my heart starts knocking. I’m thrilled to be chosen, to have something so special. That is,… Continue Reading
The painting in the living room gave me a funny feeling. It followed me around the room like those pictures with eyes that never look away. Only this painting had no eyes. It was a swirl of reds and pinks… Continue Reading
My spaceship lands in Australia and I come out with a big gun, to shoot lions. Mommy won’t let me have a gun. Mommy asked me where I wanted to go on vacation. I said somewhere where there’s no relatives.… Continue Reading
The Louvre is not Costco but sometimes it is. Entering quickly through the Rue Rivoli Richelieu side entrance using my museum pass instead of buying a ticket was a source of infinite joy that would last me for days. Before… Continue Reading
He painted her a picture. He showed it to her one Tuesday, after she got off work. He had been working on it for a while and finally decided it was finished. He knew he was done with the painting,… Continue Reading
The first stab was dead center between the eyes. The scissors were plunged all the way to the pivot joint then dragged downward slowly, deliberately so. Incision after incision followed. He held the handle so tightly his hand began to… Continue Reading
Deep in the concrete bowels of the Tate Modern, I grow large and choose my form. I become strips of aluminium, curved into arches, then glued together, banded into long cylinders. When I am ready and no one is looking,… Continue Reading