Hello Internet! I have brought you a new story which I really hope that you all enjoy! Here goes the first chapter to Artistic Devotion!
"Remember, dear, there is always a surprise at every corner. I can see the talent shining in your little eyes. You're going to be a wonderful artist just like your mother, like me, and my own mother."
Grandmother always encouraged me to be an artist. Her mother was, and so was my mother. But she was the one who made me believe that I would be better than all three of them.
She would sit me on her lap and tell me different shading techniques, foundation for paint, and how her favourite type of art was surrealism, but I liked the detailed cartoons better.
She told me how art was such a passion for her and her mother, and that they relied on their art skills to survive their unforgiving lives. They certainly gained enough money from their beautiful creations.
"Mom, it's bedtime." My mother was different.
Her generation had no use of the hardworking artists. They were just doodlers. Not real artists. Not the ones that came on the television and would masquerade in their fame, using what little talent they had to feed the money-hungry sharks in the generation's art world.
My mother wasn't like that.
My mother was poor on her own, because she believed that her talent alone could get her by in the generation that she had the misfortune to be born into. She painted beautifully done landscapes that would have given her great praise but unfortunately her generation looked down upon who dared showed their potential and chased after their desires without already having a great influence on others.
In other words, if you're not famous, you're not getting anything you want.
Grandmother set me down from her lap and gave me a little push towards Mother. "All right, dear, it's time for sleep. Keep your dreams alive and chase after them. Goodnight, dear." Mother picked me up and walked me upstairs into my bedroom. She tucked me in the comfort of my bed then kissed my forehead, and walked out of the room.
I looked around the girly room decorated with paintings perfect for a six year-old to ogle at, and not to look deeper for the meaning. Some original paintings by Mother hung up as a reminder of the failed artist with a dream.
Such a shame that so much talent now works at retail store and only paints as a 'hobby.'
I could hear Grandmother shuffle her way into the guest room where she would stay for a day or too. If I was quiet enough, I could even hear her mumble a few words to herself.
"…in the attic. She'll find…so soon. Once I'm…she'll understand. Unlike her mother and father…me. She will. And then, we'll be…" My young ears couldn't pick up the rest of what Grandmother was saying, but I didn't dwell on it.
I turned over and lied on my side, hearing Grandmother falling silent and the light snores coming from her bedroom. I clutched the blanket tightly, as I stared ahead into my closet door, my childish thoughts wondering if there was a monster in the closet.
But no, the real monsters were out there, in the real world. They didn't hide in closets. They masqueraded around town, on television, in music, in paintings.
I remembered Grandmother telling me that I shouldn't be afraid of monsters, and that eased me into a lull sleep. I dreamt of how much Grandmother cared for me, as if I was another one of her daughters. Oh how she praised me for my artistic skills, always telling me that one day I would make her very proud, even though I knew that I already did. How I loved Grandmother, such a kind a gentle woman, having so much faith in everything.
…Grandmother died that very night, in her sleep, such a peaceful state…
But she still drives my artistic devotion.
Things really have changed for this website, it's nice. Anyway, I know it seems odd at first but I'll get to the real storyline soon! If you enjoyed the first chapter, let me know down in the reviews and give that little heart button a click! I know I'm late but, Happy Thanksgiving!