This was a journal prompt I had to write in my creative writing class that had to do with colors. We had about 20 minutes to write it. It’s been fixed up, but most of it is the original. I’m afraid it’s really not that original, but I like it. 🙂
At one point in her life, art meant everything to her. She was like many other artists – opening a hidden spot of her heart – nay, her soul onto blank canvas for the world to see. It was a gradual process at first, much like meeting the love of one’s life – opening up little by little to reveal who she really was. Art was her true love. She whispered new secrets with every brush stroke on the canvas.
But that was one time.
Colors, which at one time represented her world, faded into nothing more than tints and hues. Only red was the exception. And red… red was her favorite color. It was vibrant. It was passion. But it became scorn. For years she kept a cheery face while continuing her starving career, making red her symbol of hope. She never expected the life of an artist to be an easy one, nor for everyone to understand her, but she never expected the attacks of criticism and rejection. Like a red pen correcting – never approving of anything. Rejecting her emotions… her heart… her soul.
For a while she continued on. A few harsh words wouldn’t get her down. But as time passed, she realized she was only painting what others wanted. And it was one day, as she was adding a stroke of red to a rose petal, that she froze. The red looked awful, like dripping blood. It was not on her side. None of her art was – she had lost herself in a world, bleeding slowly and no one cared.
To change wasn’t easy. Her career was doing better than it had before. She kicked her easel in desperation. It toppled to the ground – the painting following. She sat still for a time pondering what had happened to her. It took all her strength to wash all that red down the drain. All the colors, which had long lost their meaning to her, followed. Canvas, easel, paintbrush – all were tossed away. Then a silence came. Voices of ridicule subsided in her head. She had peace, but she had lost her true passion along the way.
throughthemiasma 