Ficawesome Gift Echange- TAKE 2
Title: Living Masterpiece
Written for: Psyche001
Written By: Readingmama/Vampiremama
Summary/Prompt used: Boy paints a girl that comes to life.
If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group: Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps
A/N- Thank you so much to HeatherBella for beta'ing. I hope you all enjoy.
It has been said that art is a tryst, for in the joy of it maker and beholder meet. ~Kojiro Tomita
The boy with the uniquely colored hair sauntered through the gallery. That is what everyone called him; he wasn't even the artist with the uniquely colored hair, no they simply called him boy. He did not think his hair was such a rarity and he actually created the color in paint one day, just to prove to himself that the combinations of red and copper in his hair were not that difficult. The reason they called him boy was because at the ripe age of twenty seven he had done more with his career than most men twice his age. Of course the fact that he still retained his boyish looks probably helped with branding him the nickname. Words like protégé, genius and even savant were used to describe him. The first two may have been true but the third he could not claim, as he was not autistic.
He stopped and stared up at the canvas in front of him. It was one of his favorites. The work of art stretched three feet tall and nearly six feet wide. The man in the painting was reclined on his side; the soft, rugose look of his skin was captured so beautifully that one could have almost mistaken the painting for a photograph. It was part of what made Edward's work so shocking, few artists were brave enough to paint the elderly in the buff.
Edward had never set out to shock the world, in fact his journey to fame started out rather plainly. He discovered in art class that he had an affinity for painting the naked form. He excelled in his anatomy classes and it didn't take him long to become bored with painting one nude model after another. It only took a little while before he felt that they all looked the same. It was only when they'd had an elderly lady pose for his class that Edward found his passion. The way her wrinkles created shadows on not only her face, but her whole body, awoke Edward's drive.
From then he started hiring his own models, learning the planes and contrasts of each one. Everyone's ass was in the same place more or less but wrinkles, no two people held wrinkles the same way. To Edward it was beautiful, and it showed in his work. It had been a long time since Edward had needed to use a model, he now created new people from his mind, his own creativity was allowed to shine. He gave each of his subjects a journey and their bodies showed that journey in lines.
Edward was well aware that what he did was weird, but he also had discovered that rich people love weird. A single painting could fetch tens of thousands. It proved to Edward that if you drive with your passion fueling you, anything is possible.
Moving on to the next painting, Edward stopped again. He was able to move around virtually undisturbed at his openings. He was not one for conversation and most people thought he was either slow or moody. Either way the only time he was bothered was when his agent would come to let him know he'd sold another painting. As much as Edward hated the attention, he did only think it was polite to shake the hand of someone who paid ten thousand dollars to hang one of his works in their home.
He used to have groupies, a gaggle of women who thought they could ensnare him with their teased hair and fake cleavage. It became clear early on that no one ever went home with Edward at the openings; and after he had brought his mother to a show once, the girls had dubbed him a seniorsexual, and left. After Edward had gotten over the initial disgust that someone had thought his mother was his date, he found the whole thing funny. At the very least he was left alone.
He saved one piece for the last. Each painting is like a child, you never admit you have a favorite out loud, but truthfully there is always one that shines for you a little more. The woman with the flower in her hair was Edward's favorite. Just a spattering of pepper in her salty hair, the robust woman sat on the grass with her arms behind her and her face held up to the sky. Her sagging breasts told stories of children and breastfeeding but what really drew your eye was the jewel around her neck.
The emerald was nestled in a plain gold setting and hung so the bottom of the gem just grazed the top of her left breast. It was the only piece of jewelry that Edward had ever painted. Normally he kept his people clean of clutter, insisting on using their crevices as décor but this necklace had come to him in a dream and he had been unable to rest until he painted it.
Several minutes later Edward found himself outside the gallery hailing a cab. He had told his agent that he was leaving and the man hadn't fussed much. After all, four paintings had been sold and that was a nice commission for the man. He slipped into the yellow vehicle and gave his home address; he hated driving and this was his one luxury. Edward took a taxi everywhere.
Edward's bank account had more zeros than anyone else in his building. In fact Edward had the funds to buy the entire building and fill several rooms full of money, but instead he chose to live modestly. The loft on the top floor wasn't as trendy as most would imagine the famous artist to live in but it felt like home to him.
The one luxury the apartment afforded was the large windows that overlooked the city. Even though Edward did not paint cityscapes, he found the view inspiring. The large canvas he had been working on was set up in what most would call a living room. But he didn't watch television, he didn't entertain, Edward painted. It was how he relieved stress, it was what he did when he felt good, it was his whole life.
He grabbed the oil paints out of the bamboo box and began mixing them. He pulled out the red and grimaced at the fact that the tube was squeezed dry. Without the color he would not be getting much done tonight. He tossed the other pigments back in the box and headed to his bedroom, which was really just the bed hidden behind a partition.
He grabbed his sweats off his bed and took them to the washroom. After a quick shower and a thorough tooth brushing, Edward crawled into bed.
The moment Edward closed his eyes, he began to dream.
The trees passed by quickly as his feet worked to chase or flee. He was not sure which but the thought made his legs pump harder.
Then he saw it.
Just a flutter of chocolate locks that flew behind a tree, out of reach and just out of sight. Moving as fast as he could, he dodged branches to try and reach her. He couldn't see her but he could feel her, reaching out he tried to grab her shoulder and he felt her whip her head around. Her hair lashed across his face in a painful slap.
Edward's eyes flew open and although the dream had felt but a minute, it was morning. He didn't think much of his dream. He'd had many strange dreams before, and chalked this one up to the fact that he was a right brain thinker and tended to be more creative than other people, even when asleep.