The Painter's Inspiration

The old, wooden floorboards shivered with the added weight of the scurrying feet. The feet belonged to an aspiring, yet starving, artist named Claire. Claire was always known to be the artistic type. Even in school where trend-setting and fashion-followers became the “norm” Claire always seemed to show she was an individual. Usually dressed in some sort of black shirt, stained by the countless efforts of her works, Claire remained the type of person that everyone knew was going in a different direction than everyone else.

Now, many years after the drudgery of high-school, Claire was still not sure what direction she was going in. Day after day she scribbled away at her desk, paintings that described her emotions; light and dark. Day after day she always gave up, and her latest creation fell victim to the barren emptiness of the garbage can. Claire looked pensively at her drawings and sighed in frustration. She glanced at her watch and shoved her papers in her drawing book carelessly.

Claire has a steady job working in the art gallery section of a famous museum. She loathes the way she must play entertainer for all the visitors of the museum, but she continues to work there to admire the beauty of the art. After arriving at her job, Claire is reprimanded by her supervisor: “Claire, I think we need to have a talk about your position here at this museum.”

“Ok,” replied Claire with a slight tone of complacency.

“The customers have been complaining that you haven’t been showing them the best of times here in the museum, her supervisor continued, if you do not stop wandering off and staring at the mindless relics of forgotten painters your position here will have to be terminated.”

“B-but,” Claire stammered, “They aren’t forgotten painters, these are the works of people whose brilliant emotions cascaded onto their canvas, forgive me if you don’t understand the beauty.”

“Well, we don’t pay you to express the opinions on the paintings; we pay you to entertain the customers.”

“Fine, Claire said a little taken aback, “Then I guess my services are no longer needed.”

Claire walked away, her eyes filling with the tears she would never cry. She walked hurriedly along the bustling streets of the city, back to the apartment complex where she lived. Claire walked up the steps to her apartment, threw open the door, and flung herself onto her bed consumed by a wave of anger and sadness. She lay there for a considerable amount of time, the hands on her clock moving slowly. Finally, Claire got up from her bed and walked over to her desk. She sat down, not expecting to be able to draw anything. She banged her fists in fury on the surface of her drawing desk and ran her fingers forcefully through her untamed, wild hair.

Realizing she was going to get nowhere staying in her apartment, Claire decided to go for a walk to clear her head. She pulled on her overcoat, grabbed her drawing book out of habit, and walked out the door. After walking mindlessly for about an hour, Claire decided to stop and take in the scenery of the nearby park.

* * * * * * *

A young spiritless man with deep gray eyes and flowing black hair leaned casually against a tree smoking a cigarette. His hands, ingrained with the scars of a million lifetimes, were only partly gloved; the fingers being left vulnerable to the biting cold. He brought his hands up to his face and cupped them together to breathe some warmth back into them. After, flicking the remains of his cigarette onto the concrete of the sidewalk, the man began to walk. He walked with his head down as if his spirit could no longer take the full brunt of the world. He kept walking until he ran into her. Startled by the sudden interruption of his thoughts, the man looked up and saw a distressed woman frantically picking up her sketches. The man made no effort to bend down to help her because one of her drawings had caught his eye. It was a picture that Claire herself had drawn recently. Claire had desperately tried to capture her emotions into her drawings; this one was no different. It was a picture of Claire trapped by her own emotions unable to express her deepest desires. He leaned down and picked the picture up just as Claire had grabbed a hold of the corner of it. He took her hand off gently, and studied the picture more carefully. The picture, the man thought, was one of the most conflicted and beautiful things he had ever seen. He knew from the moment he looked at that drawing that there was a connection between them.

The man looked deep into Claire’s blue eyes and extended his hand towards her. She gladly accepted and stood up slowly. The man said, “My name is Chris, you’re an artist right?”

“Yah, but these drawings are nothing; I can never seem to find a knack for anything.”

“Well, I think I can help you,” said Chris, “by the way, what’s your name?”

“Claire,” she whispered.

“Ok Claire, will you take me to your home?”

“Yes,” said Claire mesmerized by his gray eyes.

Claire watched Chris in awe as they walked together down the streets. She began to study his facial expressions, the way he walked, and, most importantly, how he spoke. Claire looked at his long, black hair flowing in the wind, she looked at his deep granite eyes; watching how they were so alert and yet so relaxed at the same time. She continued to study him until they arrived at her apartment. She fumbled with her keys and opened the door.

Chris looked around the room. It was an artist’s apartment. The walls were covered with abstract paintings and weird carvings. Instead of practical furniture, there was but one drawing desk and a simple chair. The bed was located conveniently near the largest window, which was almost constantly open even in the winter. Pots and sculptures adorned the floors and the windowsills. Papers hung everywhere that Claire thought potentially could be art. The floor, which had once been a nice wooden floor, was now pock-marked with the refuse of a painter. He looked up and there was one huge skylight right over her bed. Chris moved over towards Claire’s drawing desk. He traced gently the indentations of her many pencil marks, and motioned for Claire to come near. He said: “Come sit down, I want to show you how to draw.”

Claire was definitely perplexed by this request but she obeyed willingly. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” he said, “now take your pencil and put it in your hand. Then I want you to close your eyes and relax your muscles.” Chris, with his head resting on Claire’s shoulder, began to guide Claire’s hand across the paper, not following any specific form just letting his thoughts guide both of their hands. When they opened their eyes, a beautiful drawing had just been created.

Claire looked up at him with sheer admiration. He looked back at her; always looking at her blue eyes and he leaned in to kiss her. Their lips met and he moved his hands to caress her shoulders and back. Claire felt as if his fingertips were leaving a trail of fire down her back. They pulled away from each other and then looked at one another and began to kiss passionately. She reached up, tore off his jacket, and began to move towards her bed. Their kissing was so heated; the breath was being taken out of the other’s mouth and their lips were moist with the effort.

Claire’s shirt was undone and then Chris took it off. He threw it indifferently onto the floor. Claire was so filled with desire; her emotions were feeding her this wild surge of adrenaline and sexual energy. Claire’s teeth along with her strong hands were tearing off Chris’s shirt. Chris, filled with want of Claire, unclasped her bra and let it fall around her waist. He cupped her breasts in his hands and began to caress her nipples with his thumbs. Claire moaned in pleasure. He began to undo her pants and he slowly took them off. She wiggled her way out of them and kicked off her panties with a giggle. She undid his pants and took everything off with them. They stared at each other’s nakedness admiring the beauty of how their bodies complemented the others.

He rolled her over, began to kiss her; his hair tickling her eyes and trailing over her skin. He climbed on top and she spread her legs a little more to invite him in. He pushed and thrusted his body against her slow then fast as if to some sacrificial song in his head. Claire’s moans of ecstasy got louder with each thrust. She pushed him off forcefully and positioned herself on top of him. She moved faster and faster until they had a simultaneous orgasm and came on each other. She rolled off him in exhaustion and lay panting on her bed. She got under her blanket and laid there with him enjoying each other’s company, watching the clouds move across the sky through her skylight.

Claire awoke with a start and looked around her not sure of where she was. She sighed with relief and looked next to find Chris sleeping peacefully. Feeling that she shouldn’t disturb him, Claire got up, wrapped in her sheets, and went to her drawing desk. She did as Chris did before and relaxed her soul and spirit. She looked at her finished project and knew Chris had unlocked something in her that she had thought didn’t exist. He had unlocked her hidden passion with his passion. She looked at her drawing, then to Chris, she sighed happily and went back to scribbling at her desk.