A Pocket Archive (39)

"Is that a different canvas?"

"Yeah." I brushed the eraser crumbs off the white rectangle on my lap, then blew softly over the sketch I'd just finished. "I got mad at the other one and didn't feel like painting over it, so I figured I'd start over."

"Why did it make you angry? You love painting."

"Because it was a mess. The format didn't feel right and I just wasn't in the right headspace when I started. Plus I didn't map anything out or plan it like I should have." I held the canvas out at arms' length and studied if for a moment before glancing back at my companion, who was cutting off another length of blue wire. "Painting's a lot like intimacy: it can be a lot of fun, but if you're not in the mood for it or if you don't know what you're doing, it's terrible." I paused, eyeing him up and down flirtatiously, then smiled. "Not that I've ever had that problem with you."

"Uh huh." The giant looked up from his laptop with an expression that was simultaneously amused and unimpressed, then went back to his latest project, which was spread halfway across the coffee table. He nodded at the canvas. "When do you need that done by?"

"Ideally Wednesday, but Friday at the latest. " I rotated the canvas in my hands a few times, checking it in both sideways and upside-down orientations. The angles seemed accurate enough, and the composition was much stronger than my first attempt. I reached for my yellow ochre and began laying down a thin wash over the graphite, sealing the sketch in.

"Mm. Later then."

I smirked and reached for another tube of paint. In truth, deadlines were better motivation for me than almost anything else, probably because of the mini adrenaline rushes of panic, which now punctuated nearly every aspect of my life, especially at this time of year. While it was exhausting, I was grateful for all the distractions.

December was never easy for me, but I would do my best to enjoy it and had pushed the anxiety as far back in my mind as I could, suffocating the lurid dread beneath my innumerable projects and social obligations, like a sickly Christmas tree disguised under bright, gaudy ornaments and too many lights. Regardless of how I was affected, however, it wasn't really about me- Christmas  was about the greatest Gift ever given, which no one could take away or destroy. My own life had also gotten much better too, and while I couldn't always help how I felt, I did at least have ability to ensure it would be a wonderful day for someone else.

Art truly was magic. I couldn't erase every painful scar from my life completely, but I was happy now, and could always find joy in creating and preserve images of what the people around me loved the most. I had found my stability, and I love that I am able to make things that are beautiful.