With these thoughts, she
calmed down a little, reached into her backpack for her smartphone – just
in case, as if she really was recording
something on it, when suddenly she was blinded by an unexpected light – someone
was standing next to the entrance.
9
CHAPTER 3. THEY
Five hours earlier, a few kilometers south
.
The light of the setting sun shone through the small
basement window. It moved to the floor and moved smoothly
along, illuminating everything in its path:
white walls, simple wooden shelves. And on them —
beauty. Lots of beauty. A lot of work. Tools, brushes
,and paints.
The workshop was a creative mess, but the work was still going on
they were laid out on shelves in
a certain sequence, depending on the stage of production and the degree
of readiness. Some were drying up, some were
at the stage of creating sketches, and some were almost finished.
A lot of boxes of materials, bottles of
special solutions and pigments were here and there,
a hundred different tiny and larger jars and
special shapes – all this gave the workshop the appearance of a
fancy alchemical laboratory with modern
trends from IKEA.
The workshop seemed to be permeated by the spirit of creativity, the energy
of inspiration invisibly bubbled in the air, thin streams
oozed up from almost finished paintings, panels,
tables and decorative dishes. Most of them were
10
they are decorated and painted with natural ornaments:
bizarre plants, animals and birds, mosses and lichens, fungi
and the berries lived their lives on them. All this energy»
lit up» the room, making it stand out from hundreds of others. It was
a feast, not for humans, of course – just for him.
A ray of sunlight touched the angel statue, reflected
off its crystalline texture, and a slight ripple of space, barely visible
to the human eye, began to spread
across the room.
The angel did many righteous things today. The angel can
rest. The invisible essence of warmth and light that he
remained floated in the workshop. He found this place
a few years ago. Well, as soon as I found it, you can see it right away.
There was little creativity or inspiration in his area
,and this kind of energy was always attractive.
Against the gray background of everyday life, this island simply shone
a bluish alluring light. This was how he saw the world,
this was how he saw this place. It gave the angel so much strength, so
much faith, that it allowed him to do things that
many of his colleagues would not have dared to do.
He was sated, blissful, and calm, but it was
too early to leave. He was waiting for her. The lock at the top clicked. A girl came into the house
,put her grocery bags on the floor, sat
down on a bench in the hallway and buried her face in the phone. She’s on-
Her hair was unruly, and her long, thin fingers
tapped on the touch screen. The new car was sold
,which was very useful, because soon the rent would be paid,
and there was only money left for food. Reana is a master, Reana is
an artist. But what doesn’t stick together in your own
life? She went into the kitchen, washed the vegetables, and made a
light salad for dinner.
Creativity has always saved. This was her life. All
the failures she «stuck» with creativity. She had it, and
he had her. And nothing else. The profit was always enough
only for the most necessary things. Reana never took out a loan
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to buy a house. I didn’t start a family either. I met and met many people, but no one stayed long.
Only the best friend remained unchanged,
with which you could get out to hang out somewhere and still
listen to whining about how everyone around you is a bastard and how
expensive everything has become.
Such a strange life, both monotonous and completely
different every day, because every creation that came out
from under her hand was different from others, with its
own character, even copies were somewhat different. And she
liked that. And he liked it. The angel called. Inaudible.
Invisibly. Touching without touching. Today, new
workpieces are being filled in. A play of substances and forms, liquid and solid,
colorless and colored, a boundless field for
phantasms, a flight over a world frozen in its beauty for
eternity.
And she went to work, putting on a light shirt and a work
apron.
And he assisted her. I wish I could say that,
but no. He wasn’t helping, he was present. And it gave
something more. He needed her. Not that slim
and regular figure, not those hands, not that sweet
,kind face with big brown eyes. He needed
her light – that fountain of blue light of creativity,
inspiration, and fantasy. The same delicious light
that permeated the workshop, only stronger, fresher. When
she was away for a long time, or in close contact
with other people, that light faded. It weakened even when
the works sold out well and there was no need to
create new ones. Therefore, he helped as much as he could:
he took unnecessary people away from her, recognition and success. And he
made her happy, creating happiness out of nothing. The artist
must be hungry. Well, even if not quite hungry,
of course, but a certain creativity is
a certain sacrifice.
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So today we did both. And
they both enjoyed the process, too.
What