Art's Purpose
If everything could be expressed in words, then there would be no art.
- Unknown
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Upon entering her office, a square-shaped object was perched on the chair, covered with a delicate white silk cloth and on the top right hand corner was a single nude-coloured plastic ribbon. As far as she can remember, it wasn't Christmas, nor was it her birthday, or was it? It was conclusive, she had finally lost her sense of time. She placed some of the files from the Baldwell case she and Danny had been working on on her desk as she walked over towards the square item sitting on the chair as if it positioned itself in mock annoyance.
She carefully scanned the enormity of the object balanced on the armrests of her chair and carefully removed the ribbon as well as the blinding white covering.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she saw what was nestled on her chair. It was a painting.
A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she admired it. She couldn't help but feel the rough texture with her index finger, softly grazing the outlines of the image.
It was a simple sunset scene, what's remarkable about it was the way the painter had done the contours and proportions of the silhouettes on the left hand side. It was done so intricately and the attention to detail was definitely notable. The painter had visibly taken all the effort he or she could possibly gather to present the emotions felt while doing the painting. Lindsay could almost feel the passion screaming out at her as she slowly scanned her eyes on the two silhouettes hand in hand with shadows trailing behind them. Ahead of the profiles of what seemed to be a couple, was an endless path leading out to whatever was on the other side. In the far distance, the sun was beginning to set as it cast shadows everywhere. Another striking aspect of the painting was how the couple seemed to be only in a world where no one but the two of them exists, walking hand in hand to an unknown place leaving their dark trails behind.
With a trained eye she scanned the picture once more searching for clues which may give away who was responsible for this brilliantly inspired work of art. It was an oil-painting, and she was aware that it takes a lot of time and effort to complete them. Waiting for the paint to dry would be quite time consuming so whoever had done it either had a lot of time in their hands, or he or she really truly cared about her. There. In the bottom right corner of the painting was the name of the culprit roughly scribbled but still recognizable.
Messer
The door behind her opened and closed with a soft thump and a voice followed saying, "Whaddya smilin' at Montana?"
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A/N: Another oneshot. A very very short one. Hope you liked again. I'm not really a painter, nor an artist, I did the best I can (at this point) to do the world of art some justice. Another random burst of inspiration at an hour and seven minutes past midnight. Apparently I've got a knack for writing while my friends are out partying.
A/N Part II: If anyone knows who said the words above, it would be greatly appreciated.