It's a beautiful late summer morning. I wake up because I've to finish some important tasks before sunset. I'm a procrastinator. It's part of being an artist anyway.
"When are you finishing, Hala? It's been almost a month since you're supposed to finish," Lina scolds through the phone. Yes, she is my manager in a way. She's a bit older than me, around thirty-two I'd say.
"I haven't been inspired yet. Also, what makes that story worth my art? It's meaningless," I mumble, holding my large cup of my favourite mix, coffee and juice. Don't ask me anything. I'm weird I know. That's another part of me being an artist.
"You have no right to say such thing. You signed a contract. Our client was supposed to publish her novel by the end of the previous month. If it weren't for you being late, we wouldn't be pushing the date forward!" Her tone of voice seems to get higher with each word she's adding. At this rate, she'll be getting out from my phone to scold me more. I sigh at her words giving no excuses. But, I seriously find no sense in the story.
"Lina, the story has no ground and makes no sense. It's even confusing me on how to paint the cover to make it suitable. I've been reading it for a while and it's just a fantasy novella which many of it exist out there," I defend my stand to at least buy me more time. I lie to her. I didn't read much out of it. It's tiring. I haven't even finished a chapter. But that's exactly what I do with stories I find boring.
I pick characters, use my imagination, pick a certain colour palette, a suitable art style and here I go.
"Hala. It's not up to you to say so. Just finish the painting within three days, otherwise, we'll have to end the contract. I can't help you further," My manager states as I am tasting the bittersweetness of my coffee mix, taking a sip and humming. I got to do something about it.
I don't mind ending the contract. In fact, it's what I've been wanting all along. That publishing house has been granting me chaces to tisget creative. I remember I signed with them because of my financial situation. I had to keep paying rent no matter what. However, I find myself in a trance called pressure and anxiety. I've to do a lot on my plate. I've been using them to escape otherwise, I'd still be stuck in my mind with a miserable unstable life.
"I'll finish the painting and terminate the contract," I decide right away. It's one of the good things I've got. Putting my mug on the kitchen counter, I hear her tone of voice changing.
"I didn't mean to terminate it. I said if you keep being late, it's going to affect the company and I only mean to rush you not you to leave," Lina explains as if I didn't understand her point.
"I know. I want to take a break. I'm tired and constantly put under pressure isn't going to help me inspired or get creative suddenly. So, you can end the contract, I take a break and both parties are satisfied," I draw the final line and cut the call as I lie open on my king size bed. The phone is in my left hand, my eyes facing the ceiling, and in that space in between, I can see my thoughts wandering around like ghosts. I'll paint it. I just need to read the whole story and draw it.
That writer has never answered my DMs. She's so weird because she has only one account on one social media platform. Not even an email! Lina told me before that she's so introverted and she could meet her once only. How can someone be this introverted that even when going out, she had to cover herself with a black mask, glasses and hat, as if she's some celebrity. "Not even showing her hair since her black hoodie was on top of the hat! Barely made an eye contact and when she did! Her eyes were a deep light blue that I've never seen in my life!" That's how my manager, ex-manager, put it to words showing how creepy it was. But I think I'd be so interested and curious to see this mysterious girl.
What's a deep light blue anyway..
My thoughts still floating in front of me, unfolding one to the other, dispersing in the thin air of a late summer day. I sigh. I should get up to read it and the writer's introversion is the only thing pushing my curiosity to read it.
I get up again from the bed. Hold the script and flip its pages as if I'm done with life. I turned on music on my favorite playlist starting from my favorite band— recently became my favorite, Angel Number. Suddenly, my eyes fall on a certain black and white illustration from the novel. A tall figure, looks medium with some muscled arms and abs showing. A tall hair reaching under his ears. Round earrings on both and has completely dark eyes. I mean, dark pupils, dark iris and dark sclera. He has no eyes? Or is darkness getting out of them that the iris has disappeared. His slim a bit long face looks scary. I don't know who drew this tall good-looking figure, but if it's one of the characters, I'm surely investing!
Something is written under the illustration, «Vaelzorrath». "What's that?" I wonder, "Who's this artist with this weird name, Vaelzorrath?" I spell out loud. I make a certain face reacting to the name. "Weirdos surely get along with weirdos," I shrug as I look at myself thinking I'm one as well.
Artists are all weird in a certain way to a certain extent. This shall not be ignored because it's a side which helps with getting inspired. Not when it's too much tho..
I read certain passages about a certain world that exists parallel to ours. Parallel in this novel seems to be identical to ours, similar locations and places. But we cannot see it. We're forbidden to see people from this world, their lifestyle, habits, houses and can even live with us but we are unable to see them. "This seems interesting," I mumble as my eye brows lift and my lips part, showing curiosity. I've always been someone who's into mysteries, unusual things and myths. I mean come on, we girls are into vampires and werewolves. I shrug, flipping pages fast to see what's going on with this story. As expected, so tiring to read, the words aren't simple. Names of characters that are long, unusual and weird. "Is she really talking about a world she created in her brain? This is too much. I can't keep up with this novel anymore," I sigh deeply in distress. My brain started heating and I know if I keep going on like this, I'd not have the energy to paint.
The sun is middling, I'm hungry already and lazy to cook anyway. I order a takeout and lay down imagining the cover. That drowned figure gives me chills and all I can remember among his details: his eyes and hair. I think I'll just start with the sketch. I shouldn't be overthinking much, which is another part of me being an artist, I'll just paint a fantasy cover representing the world she mentioned. No more.
My brushes are ready. They're my companion when life throws its weight on me. I painted some amazing pieces representing what it feels like to be lonely, not understood, depression and so on. I know it's hard to talk about such things and people don't understand what it's like, so all I got to do, is expressing these untold feelings, states and emotions through the color palettes I choose, the curves of the figures drawn, the texture and the overall art style is what makes my paintings hidden from the world. It's why I've been working as a painter for a publishing house. Painting basic drawings based on the story, sometimes even digital painting for the sake of the book style. The other personal paintings are hidden, in my second small room inside the apartment. Locked, safe and never see the light.
This Vaelzorrath is inspiring me to draw him more beautifully, more charming and hide it for myself. Locked not to ever see the light. As for the book cover for the story, I'll paint some houses, medieval style, lights are on and some magical figures representing the fantasy weird world that she's been writing about.
"Hello. Your takeout is here," The delivery guy announces at my apartment door and calling on my phone at the same time. That's probably the only time it'll ring from now on.
"Coming!" I shout as I move from my bed to the door. Suddenly, an air passes behind me, a wind suddenly blowing, cold and gives me chills all over my body. I can feel the shiver as I turn my head back to check the window. It's open, I opened it as I woke up earlier and I check the wind. I'm paranoid. The wind can't be blowing through my window because it faces south. But it's really blowing outside. I ignore the doubt and open the door. The delivery guy is still waiting outside the door and it's unusual. A tall body wearing the delivery costume in blue and white. He's putting the company's hat and although he's tall I only grasp on his lips and chin. A clear jawline and medium filled reddish lips. Medium white skin and that's all I can notice.
"Thank you!" I take it from his hand that looks big but covered with the glove. He smirks a bit as I could see his lips curling to the sides. He says nothing and leaves. His gaze was piercing just now but I ignore it. I am too busy to hang onto reading his body language. He's just a stranger. After all, noticing and ignoring is also a part of me as an artist, however, I never forget the details I notice. Ignoring doesn't mean forgetting.
I go back inside and eat the mushroom soup I have ordered with the chicken tomato sauce pasta, and of course, a cup of cherry juice. This is how to get motivated to paint the last piece, book cover, for that publishing house.