She walked around the room, looking at the different paintings on the walls. They were beautiful, sure, but…not captivating enough. For this months edition, she needed something bold, something different, something that would catch everyone’s attention.
The weather was comfortably warm. A slight breeze touched the wind chimes, making it come to life. She was suddenly reminded of one incident from her childhood. Her father was a painter and always smelt of fresh paint and varnish. She quite liked the smell. Her mother used to complain that she hated the smell and tried to wash it away but one day, she saw her mother smiling as she held one of his shirts. Love. There was no other way to explain it. Pure, warm love.
She smiled and wondered what made her remember that when she caught the smell. Fresh paint and varnish. She turned her head around so fast that she almost got a whiplash. But she looked, she looked around the whole place for the source of that smell. It might not mean much to everyone, sure every painter smells of varnish but it was special to her, it symbolized comfort and…….love.
After what seemed like hours of searching, she found it. A small room, the smell of summer was more distinct and there were cans of paint and bottles of varnish lying around and a canvas on an easel was facing the wall. She turned it around and her heart skipped a beat.
It was a painting and one that she knew. It was a field of flowers. The colours were vibrant and created a layered effect making it look smoother and almost magical. But the sky was blank. A white space with a few blue smudges here and there, but the rest of it was white space. Her father had never been able to finish it. He tried but he had already given up on that art. Nothing she said or did had persuaded him to change his mind.
She found a few brushes lying around and seated herself in front of the painting and for the first time in a while, she started to practice what her father had taught her. And when she started, she could feel her father sitting beside her, whispering words of encouragement, giving her advice every now and then and her mother standing in the doorway, watching the two people she loved most engage in an art she loved as much. The art that had led her to love and happiness. She remembered her mothers warm smile and her fathers twinkling eyes.
Once she was done, she stood and looked at her first piece. The sky was a mixture of light blue and a reddish pink that slowly transformed to a dark, midnight blue. The stars had somehow gathered up the courage to peek out of the gray clouds.
Her father had always considered this painting an unfinished masterpiece and had told her how much he wanted to see it, it was only fitting that she apply the last stroke on that canvas.