It had been something that came out without her meaning for it to. She had felt relaxed and comfortable with Nika. But now that it was said, she felt a worm of worry churn in her gut. No. It was fear. She tried not to show it, but she did briefly glance at the door.
Instead, she drank from the juice box.
After a moment, she met her eyes "Art was a..." she had been going to say her life's work; her passion; who she was. But she no longer felt that way. She didn't know what she was anymore. She was afraid of being told that she was a joke. Worthless. Again.
It was what Laila had said to her. The last few pieces she had done- acrylic on Bristol- had been laced with pain and agony. Distorted and twisted multiple limbs on a diseased and pustuled torso, Wishbones. A snarling man holding a grotesque infant to his chest protectively as blood and tears flowed from its mouth and eyes, The Ashamed. A young girl, looking at her, tears leaking from her eyes, lost and in hopeless, massive horns protruding from her head, A long way from home.
She wasn't sure when her work had become so dark and macabre, so filled with pain and disillusionment. The brush work wasn't the best. She couldn't help that. Her wrist had been in a cast. Laila had broken it, accidentally. She sometimes didn't know her own strength. For a moment, Liv felt the vise like grip, grinding radius and ulna together, a stab of pain lancing through her. The fine detail had been hard to do when she couldn't hold the brush properly. And of course, there had also been gaps of time before she could finish them. She'd work and then abandon them when she needed time to recover- dodging messages from her parents and friends. She couldnt bear to let them see what had happened, what she had caused. She'd ended up dropping her classes there at the end.
The worst part had been when Laila had found them and laughed at her. Laila, eight years older than her, had been one of her art professor's assistants working on her master's degree. She knew what she was talking about. It was what had so attracted Liv to her at first. She was so intelligent and passionate and just knew so much. Liv had loved to listen to her as she commented on various pieces, pointed out things that Liv had never seen or noticed. And she had eviscerated Liv's work with a savagery and relentlessness that left her breathless and sobbing. She absolute shredded her. "Derivative. Childish. Melodramatic. Pointless. Garbage."
Each word, each judgement, had been a knife stabbing into her heart. And she was bleeding from a hundred such wounds, numb and at her end, when Laila then literally ripped them apart as so much pointless trash. The medium had burned in the fireplace of Laila's comfortable town house,and Liv felt each lick of flame as if it were her burning to death.
She came back to herself, the smell of charred paper and oils still in her nostrils. She grimaced. "Sorry. So...yeah. just a hobby. I'm not very good." A weak smile formed. "So...maybe menu art is my thing. She wanted to change the subject. Get back to being comfortable.
She glanced at Nika's finger braces. "So, motorcycles, huh? Sounds scary. But, you love it, obviously." A nod to her injured hand. "What happened?"
[[On IG check out Hellevan. I used her work for Liv's. Absolutely amazing stuff.]]
Instead, she drank from the juice box.
After a moment, she met her eyes "Art was a..." she had been going to say her life's work; her passion; who she was. But she no longer felt that way. She didn't know what she was anymore. She was afraid of being told that she was a joke. Worthless. Again.
It was what Laila had said to her. The last few pieces she had done- acrylic on Bristol- had been laced with pain and agony. Distorted and twisted multiple limbs on a diseased and pustuled torso, Wishbones. A snarling man holding a grotesque infant to his chest protectively as blood and tears flowed from its mouth and eyes, The Ashamed. A young girl, looking at her, tears leaking from her eyes, lost and in hopeless, massive horns protruding from her head, A long way from home.
She wasn't sure when her work had become so dark and macabre, so filled with pain and disillusionment. The brush work wasn't the best. She couldn't help that. Her wrist had been in a cast. Laila had broken it, accidentally. She sometimes didn't know her own strength. For a moment, Liv felt the vise like grip, grinding radius and ulna together, a stab of pain lancing through her. The fine detail had been hard to do when she couldn't hold the brush properly. And of course, there had also been gaps of time before she could finish them. She'd work and then abandon them when she needed time to recover- dodging messages from her parents and friends. She couldnt bear to let them see what had happened, what she had caused. She'd ended up dropping her classes there at the end.
The worst part had been when Laila had found them and laughed at her. Laila, eight years older than her, had been one of her art professor's assistants working on her master's degree. She knew what she was talking about. It was what had so attracted Liv to her at first. She was so intelligent and passionate and just knew so much. Liv had loved to listen to her as she commented on various pieces, pointed out things that Liv had never seen or noticed. And she had eviscerated Liv's work with a savagery and relentlessness that left her breathless and sobbing. She absolute shredded her. "Derivative. Childish. Melodramatic. Pointless. Garbage."
Each word, each judgement, had been a knife stabbing into her heart. And she was bleeding from a hundred such wounds, numb and at her end, when Laila then literally ripped them apart as so much pointless trash. The medium had burned in the fireplace of Laila's comfortable town house,and Liv felt each lick of flame as if it were her burning to death.
She came back to herself, the smell of charred paper and oils still in her nostrils. She grimaced. "Sorry. So...yeah. just a hobby. I'm not very good." A weak smile formed. "So...maybe menu art is my thing. She wanted to change the subject. Get back to being comfortable.
She glanced at Nika's finger braces. "So, motorcycles, huh? Sounds scary. But, you love it, obviously." A nod to her injured hand. "What happened?"
[[On IG check out Hellevan. I used her work for Liv's. Absolutely amazing stuff.]]