The Ink Well Prompt #52 - The artist.

Well hello there all in the inkwell community.

I hope that you are all well and writing on!

For this weeks #inkwell community weekly prompt #52, I'd like to share with a story about the artist that is just hot off the press.

And if you too would like to join in this great writing exercise, then please check out this link @theinkwell/the-ink-well-prompt-52-plus-weekly-challenge-and-prize-announcement by the wonderful creators of this community @raj808 and @stormlight24 and run by @jayna, @agmoore, @gracielaacevedo, @wrestlingdesires and @yaziris.

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And now, without further ado, I give you


She watched the artist, day in day out.

She scrutinised him the first time he came in, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled widely at the bright open airy space in delight, his face full of joy and promise.

Then she examined him as he bought in and arranged his furniture around the room until it was just right.

She watched as he opened a very large and important looking case, pulling boxes of charcoal and sketch pads, also arranging them neatly around him and for the first few days, she watched him from afar with only one eye, half open, as he was new and she was shy.

For hours, she regarded him as the charcoal danced a joyous Parisian ballet across the paper, his bright, light blues eyes lighting up, until suddenly, clouds gathered above his head, sending his light blue eyes a stormy steel gray, the charcoal slashing at the paper, curving up, slicing through the air with a ferocious flourish as the piece of charcoal flew out of his clenched fist across the room.

She watched as both of his hands then flew up to his face, rubbing it roughly from all directions, then through his silvered, wavy hair, ripping through each curl, pulling them away from his scalp in his clenched fists, until he dug each finger and thumb into his head from each side and massaged his head, then stared at the paper, ripped it from it’s spiral spine, crumpled it up and threw it across the room too.

She followed his every move as he bolted up from the stool and strode around the room, shaking his head, his arms, his legs, even punching his own legs, bottom and lower back until he sat again, and calmly smoothed out a fresh white page and started sketching again.

For days she witnessed the joy turn to frustration, then fury, darkness crossing his normally smooth face with deep crease lines as he violently drew the charcoal diagonally across the paper, as he repeatedly threw away sheet after sheet.

She listened to his breaths, his breathing, his grunts, groans and moans until one day, she heard a sigh escape his mouth and his full lips pucker into an β€˜O’ and she saw that β€œO” grow into the glorious bloom of a red rose as his whole face bloomed in the shining sunlight coming in through the window.

She stared at him as he stared at the paper, noticing his chin slowly rise as his eyes opened wider and slowly scan the room.

And she eyeballed him as his eyeballs suddenly stopped and focused on her- Really focused on her for the first time and she felt her heart almost stop.

They spent the better part of an hour sitting there staring intently at each other, neither daring to speak and both hardly breathing.

With a sudden movement, the spell was broken and he was running out the door, leaving her wondering what had happened- whether she had done anything wrong.

Maybe she should have spoken to him, said something funny, interesting, intelligent, dumb, serious, or laughed, pretending that it was all a joke, she mused to herself, mentally admonishing herself as she looked towards the closed door, waiting for it to open again and for him to come home to her.

She waited until the sunny room became dark and lonely, concentrating- willing the door to open with his handsome figure striding through it. But that didn’t happen and she listened for the first sign of movement through the closed door, until eventually she could not keep her sleepy eye open any longer and dozed off, dreaming a terrifying tangled sequence of images until eventually she heard his boots bump on the dark floor and relieved, fell into a deeper, calmer sleep.

All of a sudden, a series of crashing sounds woke her and she slowly slid one eye half open and watched as he unloaded tins of paint, set up a pallette, brushes and other tools then sat down with a satisfied swoosh and a grin as wide as the Sydney Harbour full of anticipation as he poured and mixed paints, applying them to a huge canvas that he had set up on an easel and she watched as his strong arms flew across the canvas and listened as his breathing became more rapid and a red hue flushed across his face.

As the hours passed and his face became wet with perspiration, she continued to peer at him through her half closed eye, melding in with the wall behind her, too embarrassed, not wanting the attract attention to herself.

Soon, the daylight faded into night and he was walking out the door again, looking straight ahead, without even a glance behind.

The next morning she scrutinised him as he continued to splash paint of all colours and hues around the room, including her, until one final flourish and he stood, gentle placing the brush back on the pallette and silently covered his mouth with his hand as he stood and stared at the canvas.

Eventually he reached over and almost reverently grasped the sides of the canvas, turning it on it’s easel until the shone shone through the window lighting up the face of the most beautiful women that she had ever seen.

She stared at her, shock, jealousy, anger, awe and a myriad of other emotions choking her until she though that she would die and completely paralysed, she watched him as he looked at her from every angle, stepping in closer and stepping out to look at the magnificent woman on the canvas.

She watched, her heart breaking as he picked up his phone and spoke briefly into it, putting it down and going back to the canvas to continue analysing it from every angle.

Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door and an older women walked in as the artist went over to take her hand and lead her around to the face of the canvas.

The older women put her hands over her mouth and breathed in an audible gasp, tears welling in her eyes and she realised that the older women was an older version of the face in the painting.

The artist stood there, a look of happiness and triumph on his beautiful face as the older woman grabbed and embraced him, hugging him tight, tears rolling down her cheeks as he put her arms around her and hugged her back.

In complete confusion, with a big tinge of dismay, She watched them perform this intimate dance and went into her own head, berating herself for being such a fool, when she realised that they were now staring at her.

Well Simon, shall we? She asked.

Yes Mum, we shall he said, as he walked over to her and reached his hands up, stopping, frozen staring up at her.

Finally he sees me, she thought with relief coursing through her veins.

Finally he sees my love for him.

What’s wrong Simon, asked his Mother as she came over to help.

Simon stood stuck for words as he saw tears flow down her cheeks, wetting the once dry paint, staining the cheeks of the face on the painting and drip a greyish mixture onto the mantle below her.

Oh Simon, she gasped, Oh Simon, she’s crying, she exclaimed as she sat down and put her head in her hands and started sobbing loudly.

Oh my poor baby girl….....Oh my poor Maddie, you were far too young to leave us,* she wailed into her hands as Simon stood there, mouth hanging open and tears too streaming down his face.*

Gently gripping her by the waist, he gently and lovingly pulled her down from the wall as her tears continued to roll down the canvas.

Oh Maddie, I will always love you my darling wife, I miss you so much and will always be here with you, he said in his sorrowful voice and now you are all fresh and dressed up in your favourite colourful dress there.

She looked over to the canvas, seeing the beautiful woman glowing in fresh, vibrant rainbows colours and realised it was herself.

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Thank you so much for reading my post , I really hope that you enjoyed it and look forward to your comments and thoughts.

πŸ πŸƒπŸŒπŸ•·πŸπŸ“πŸ¦†πŸΈπŸπŸΏπŸ¦‹πŸ’πŸžπŸ¦πŸˆπŸ¦†πŸ₯πŸœπŸ¦‘πŸ›πŸ„πŸ¦‡πŸͺπŸ¦πŸ³πŸŠπŸ¦€πŸ¦ŒπŸ–πŸ’πŸπŸ‹πŸ

And unless otherwise stated- ALL photographs, all media, material and writings, are all my originals taken by me sometime in the past few decades or so somewhere in my travels and as such, ofcourse they are subject to all international IP and copyright laws and I may have already used them for my own commercial purposes here And here, So please ask first if you want to use any of them as we wouldn't want you getting into trouble. Thank you 😊

πŸ πŸƒπŸŒπŸ•·πŸπŸ“πŸ¦†πŸΈπŸπŸΏπŸ¦‹πŸ’πŸžπŸ¦πŸˆπŸ¦†πŸ₯πŸœπŸ¦‘πŸ›πŸ„πŸ¦‡πŸͺπŸ¦πŸ³πŸŠπŸ¦€πŸ¦ŒπŸ–πŸ’πŸπŸ‹πŸ

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Please feel free to checkout my other work on

πŸ πŸƒπŸŒπŸ•·πŸπŸ“πŸ¦†πŸΈπŸπŸΏπŸ¦‹πŸ’πŸžπŸ¦πŸˆπŸ¦†πŸ₯πŸœπŸ˜Šβ€οΈπŸ™πŸ’›πŸ™πŸ’šπŸ™πŸ’™πŸ™πŸ’œπŸ˜ŠπŸ¦‘πŸ›πŸ„πŸ¦‡πŸͺπŸ¦πŸ³πŸŠπŸ¦€πŸ¦ŒπŸ–πŸ’πŸπŸ‹πŸ

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