The angry waves lashed the shore profusely, whereas in contrast they had merely lapped it the day before. She'd been watching the beach earlier that day as the storm closed in and <strong>as the waves crashed in due to the storm, she felt a rising sense of panic. </strong>As the night fell, the howling wind rent the air, the dark clouds scudded across the sky and the waves grew higher, like her tension. Still waiting for him.
Living with a man who loved the sea was like living with a man who was having an affair. The sea was a capricious mistress indeed, prone to moods and manipulations. Yet she didn't regret having relocated from her distant city to live with him on this remote island. In her own way, she was also otherwise engaged in her art. Her mother had often said you might as well ask her to stop breathing as stop painting.
She'd just finished working on a painting of this beach entitled 'Tranquillity'. Such irony. Sleepless and tortured by worry, she replaced the painting on the easel with a blank canvas. By candlelight, she went to work, using her darkest, most tortured shades, and worked manically, as if an inner demon was driving her. The work carried on, oblivious to the external distraction, brushes and fingers melting paint together to give a different version of the earlier, more tranquil picture. As the work drew to a close the storm also limped to a close. Exhausted, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He woke her up with a large cup of tea.
"What happened?" he asked. "You look as if you've passed out from exhaustion." She smiled.
"I worked my way through the storm," she said. "It's an ideal way to bypass worry and tension."
"That's quite a set of twin paintings you have there. There first one's 'Tranquillity," I know. What's the other one?'
"I thought 'Turbulence' would be a suitable name. What do you think?"
"Perfect! Will you sell them as a pair?"
"Depends on if a suitable buyer materializes...."
"Of course!"
"You finished that one so quickly," he added. "Your adrenaline obviously went into overdrive. Tell me, were you frightened here last night, all alone in the storm?" She laughed.
"Not at all. I had my Muse for company..."
Living with a man who loved the sea was like living with a man who was having an affair. The sea was a capricious mistress indeed, prone to moods and manipulations. Yet she didn't regret having relocated from her distant city to live with him on this remote island. In her own way, she was also otherwise engaged in her art. Her mother had often said you might as well ask her to stop breathing as stop painting.
She'd just finished working on a painting of this beach entitled 'Tranquillity'. Such irony. Sleepless and tortured by worry, she replaced the painting on the easel with a blank canvas. By candlelight, she went to work, using her darkest, most tortured shades, and worked manically, as if an inner demon was driving her. The work carried on, oblivious to the external distraction, brushes and fingers melting paint together to give a different version of the earlier, more tranquil picture. As the work drew to a close the storm also limped to a close. Exhausted, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He woke her up with a large cup of tea.
"What happened?" he asked. "You look as if you've passed out from exhaustion." She smiled.
"I worked my way through the storm," she said. "It's an ideal way to bypass worry and tension."
"That's quite a set of twin paintings you have there. There first one's 'Tranquillity," I know. What's the other one?'
"I thought 'Turbulence' would be a suitable name. What do you think?"
"Perfect! Will you sell them as a pair?"
"Depends on if a suitable buyer materializes...."
"Of course!"
"You finished that one so quickly," he added. "Your adrenaline obviously went into overdrive. Tell me, were you frightened here last night, all alone in the storm?" She laughed.
"Not at all. I had my Muse for company..."