"I just think the bird needs some more color, you know?" said the artist looking down at the grey bird near his feet.
"It's a bird, just leave him alone," his girlfriend said, barely looking up from her book.
"But it's just so drab," the artist huffed. When his girlfriend didn't respond, he went back to painting on his easel. This was, after all, why they were at the park. He wanted to get some work done in the great outdoors, surely that would be the inspiration he needed. And his girlfriend wanted to soak up the sun and take a deep dive into her book.
But this bird was irking him, pecking about, trying to determine if any of the paint drops were food and all the while being a plain, dull, drab grey.
"But don't you think it would just look so much better with color?" the artist asked his girlfriend impatiently.
She looked up at him, from just over the top of her book, clearly annoyed to have been taken out of her fictional world for such a question. "You could always just paint it to look the way you want," she replied, gesturing to his easel. "You art doesn't have to be literally what you see in front of you."
Had the artist been paying more attention he would've understood that she meant to paint a portrait of the bird in the idealized form that he imagined. But he was still staring at the bird, so he heard what he wanted, which was that he could paint the bird the way he wanted and his art could be literally what he saw in front of him.
"Right in front of me?" he muttered quietly.
His girlfriend, not thinking anything of the comment, moved her eyes back to her book and was quickly absorbed back into the fictional world.
The artist put down his paint brush and crouched down to his bag. He knew they had packed sandwiches for lunch, but this was more important. He took one out and picked off little bits of it. He threw some towards the bird and then created a Hansel and Gretel like trail of crumbs leading to his outstretched hand.
The unsuspecting grey bird happily hopped along, eating up bits of sandwich until it was eating right out of his hand. Moving quickly, the artist snatched up the bird and held it by its feet. He dramatically grabbed his paint brush and began his work. Bold black wings would make the bird look majestic when it flew. A black head and chest would command attention, of this the artist was sure. He worked quickly, because the bird was getting increasingly scared and struggling against his grip.
When he had finished, he thrust his bird-filled hand towards his girlfriend triumphantly. "What do you think of this piece?" he asked confidently. There could only be one reaction: awe at his bold new take on what art truly is and what can be a canvas.
At first she raised her eyes slowly from her book, clearly finishing a sentence before looking up, but here eyes quickly went wide. "What did you do?!" she screamed. "Let it go!"
"You're right," the artist said proudly, "let all take in my work." He released the bird and it flew away as fast as it could. The artist thought it looked so striking against the grey sky. Before, he thought, it would have simply vanished.
"No, what did you do to that poor bird? That isn't art, that's just cruel," his girlfriend said, slamming her book shut.
"But," the artist started confusedly, "it was so boring. I made it better."
"Sometimes things are meant to be the color they are," she said exasperatedly, "The bird may needed to have been grey for survival."
"Oh," the artist said quietly, "But did you at least think it looked better?"
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
"It's a bird, just leave him alone," his girlfriend said, barely looking up from her book.
"But it's just so drab," the artist huffed. When his girlfriend didn't respond, he went back to painting on his easel. This was, after all, why they were at the park. He wanted to get some work done in the great outdoors, surely that would be the inspiration he needed. And his girlfriend wanted to soak up the sun and take a deep dive into her book.
But this bird was irking him, pecking about, trying to determine if any of the paint drops were food and all the while being a plain, dull, drab grey.
"But don't you think it would just look so much better with color?" the artist asked his girlfriend impatiently.
She looked up at him, from just over the top of her book, clearly annoyed to have been taken out of her fictional world for such a question. "You could always just paint it to look the way you want," she replied, gesturing to his easel. "You art doesn't have to be literally what you see in front of you."
Had the artist been paying more attention he would've understood that she meant to paint a portrait of the bird in the idealized form that he imagined. But he was still staring at the bird, so he heard what he wanted, which was that he could paint the bird the way he wanted and his art could be literally what he saw in front of him.
"Right in front of me?" he muttered quietly.
His girlfriend, not thinking anything of the comment, moved her eyes back to her book and was quickly absorbed back into the fictional world.
The artist put down his paint brush and crouched down to his bag. He knew they had packed sandwiches for lunch, but this was more important. He took one out and picked off little bits of it. He threw some towards the bird and then created a Hansel and Gretel like trail of crumbs leading to his outstretched hand.
The unsuspecting grey bird happily hopped along, eating up bits of sandwich until it was eating right out of his hand. Moving quickly, the artist snatched up the bird and held it by its feet. He dramatically grabbed his paint brush and began his work. Bold black wings would make the bird look majestic when it flew. A black head and chest would command attention, of this the artist was sure. He worked quickly, because the bird was getting increasingly scared and struggling against his grip.
When he had finished, he thrust his bird-filled hand towards his girlfriend triumphantly. "What do you think of this piece?" he asked confidently. There could only be one reaction: awe at his bold new take on what art truly is and what can be a canvas.
At first she raised her eyes slowly from her book, clearly finishing a sentence before looking up, but here eyes quickly went wide. "What did you do?!" she screamed. "Let it go!"
"You're right," the artist said proudly, "let all take in my work." He released the bird and it flew away as fast as it could. The artist thought it looked so striking against the grey sky. Before, he thought, it would have simply vanished.
"No, what did you do to that poor bird? That isn't art, that's just cruel," his girlfriend said, slamming her book shut.
"But," the artist started confusedly, "it was so boring. I made it better."
"Sometimes things are meant to be the color they are," she said exasperatedly, "The bird may needed to have been grey for survival."
"Oh," the artist said quietly, "But did you at least think it looked better?"
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
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