"Beautiful," Brandon said, his thoughts racing ahead. Studying the rise and fall of her; the textures, the way that the light and the shadows fell across her and the way that the paint shimmered in the studio's spotlights.
He spent the next five minutes just gazing at her. Instructing her how to pose, how to move, where to stand: stepping around her all the time; either standing or crouching himself. Needing to see everything she was and what she could be. His living canvas and the inspiration for his art.
Finally, he had it. His vision. Opening four of the tubs of powered poster paint he had, he shook a drift of colour from each onto his table: its plastic wrap covering enabling him to slide the paints into individual piles that he then split again; merging the colours together to create further ones and then even more. He looked up again at Martha. Gauging how she looked and how she held herself and then seeing layer after layer of powdered light applied one after another; like a tomography of colour and shade.
Martha nodded, careful to return to her original pose. She knew how easily his visions could shattered.
At first he used his palms, sliding wedges of colour over her, moving slowly as he laid down the base-notes of his symphony. Then he changed pace, choosing the first of the combinations he’d made; using the edges of his hand to stripe her with bolder tones that spiralled and linked the continents of colour he’d formed before; each element rendered as per his immaculate plan. And finally he took the scant pinches of the twice-blended colours; adding percussive hits and accents that brought the whole to life.
Brandon stood back, first taking in his creation as a whole and then diving in with his hands, blurring and then adding further colour until it was finished.
And then he removed her mask, letting her see what she’d become, enjoying her gasp of awe as she stared at herself, amazed.
Image taken from A different type of Art (https://www.facebook.com/A.different.type.of.Art/timeline)