Photography
Post by anabelle thompson on May 4, 2009 16:11:12 GMT -6
Anabelle Jane Thompson
[/color]Look there she goes that girl is strange, no question.
Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?[/center]
The smell of acrylic and painting canvas’ was all about Belle, like an aura of artistic creativity. Walking down the hallway where the painting classes were located was one of Belle’s favorite pastimes, probably because it reminded her of the art museum her dear late father used to take her to. There were tons of brightly-colored oil paintings contrasting with the dark, serious type landscape class paintings. Her blue eyes always flocked to the brightly-colored flower paintings that took her back to the lush, Kansas sunsets; and today they did as they always did. At the end of the hallway, in the biggest glass gallery (sometimes called the ‘Professional’s Gallery’ because all the extraordinary painters had work displayed there) was a canary yellow tulip painted on top of a red and orange background. Mesmerized by the brilliant and vivid colors, Belle’s feet began to float to the dimly lit glass case that housed the work of art.[/blockquote]
Upon seeing it up close, her artistic and creative senses began to flourish. She didn’t need drugs or alcohol like other artists-cheerful, perky still life paintings were her source of high. The swirled oranges and reds were just calling to her, saying, “Go take a whole bunch of photographs!” She seemed to get lost in thinking questions like why did the painter decide a tulip? Or why yellow and orange and not blue and green? Such questions that would seem pointless to a non-appreciative-of-art person, like her curmudgeon of a mother. Her father would surely have spent hours with her in the Lourve or Metropolitan Museum. Sometimes, Anabelle wished it was her mother who had died instead of her father.
Her fabulous train of thought was soon lost to a male student, seemingly looking up at the very same painting she was. Looking out of the corner of her blue eye, she couldn’t help but notice some familiarity between him and Griffin, the stranger she had so oddly met a few days back at the pier. But, she thought, perhaps it was him. She didn’t look, out of some fear she couldn’t quite place her finger on, but, whatever it was, it didn’t stop her mouth from uttering a couple words to him. “Beautiful painting, isn’t it?” Quietly, she continued to gaze up into the subtle lit gallery, awaiting a reply.
( words ) 388
( tagged ) griffin rosseau
( outfit ) clicky here
( notes ) Uh, have fun? Lol xD
