Soul Painting

    Immersing the brush in a glass of water; dipping it in the palette within her left hand mixing up some colours; and then gently gliding the damp thick tip of the brush over the canvas, bringing her imagination to life. She kept doing this for some hours, and paid no heed to the late hour, nor to her sleepy state - for she was about to finish her masterpiece...

    Beth is a very talented painter, and a passionate one. Painters usually care too much about details, but she was overly fastidious a person. Her only indulgence existed amongst her painting tools. Her life was a bit of a mess; she was never happy in her social life; she'd got no lover, nor friends, but enough fans. She was deficient in many noble merits that the power of fame had long ago covered - come on who's perfect!- so in real life not everyone liked her personality. As an artist, she could perceive the power of colours; she'd always entertained that colours' greatest power is being so meaningful. They hold massive emotional energies underneath their visual properties - you can easily tell whether the painted person was happy or not with just an observing peak at their facial expression. To her, colours were alive.

    Beth's career precipitously and bewilderingly glittered, and she managed to lodge herself amidst the greatest painters of her time with rather mind-boggling, and sometimes queer, perspective. -As a matter of fact, queerness, and different and cranky points of views have proved successful in art. But that wasn't enough for Beth, not even close to put off her hunger for yet more adventures. She yearned to go beyond all expectations in her next painting. There had always been that urgent caprice haunting her - to paint her emotions!; to express the real her in a painting. Despite her thorough comprehension of various techniques and styles, and years of experience, yet she didn't know how to paint what she really felt - what was really deep inside her. Day after day, week after week, the urge grew louder and more intrusive; throbbing painfully; screaming piercingly in her head; and driving her to madness. Endevouring? Putting more effort? She never stopped to, but there were some hidden feelings beyond her reach; many walls blocked her view.

    One night she had a weird dream! Standing she was in a distance from a charmingly beautiful large lake that had been, seemingly, tucked away down a fascinating sweeping green area some minutes after sunrise. While she was admiring the glamour of the nature around her, and studying it by her artistic eyes as if it was a dazzling painting, she saw someone approaching near the lake. It was a girl; it looked just like her; and it turned out, when she came closer, to be herself, but another one...that confused her too!. She kept watching her from a nearer distance. The girl knelt at the lake's edge, and stared a while in the water before she suddenly fell in the lake like a still rock. A scream escaped Beth. She ran to save the girl, but when she reached the lake she was utterly mesmerized by what she saw!

    Beth woke up, and, promptly, headed to her painting room. The relentless whim of painting herself was eventually culminated in benefit..

    She'd firstly begun, some hours ago, with the usual process of embodying her imagery. She'd painted an outline for a, self-, portrait that covered her from head to waist. Beth had always been resolved on painting it in a grey scale, implying to her insipid life. She then painted the face and started to add her precious details: watery black eyes to reflect her repressed grief; a bad affectation of a smile, which reveals her profound sorrow; and a grimace referring to such tormenting pain. The tousled, dirty hair was painted to show how indifferent and careless she'd lately become. When it was time she painted the clothes, she was a bit puzzled; she'd been insincere with many people, so she ended up painting them fancy with many embroiders alluding to her hypocrisy- she couldn't lie, not to herself too. The final touch was the arms: one arm held the other tightly from the shoulder due to the bitter coldness of the fear that had always overwhelmed her.

    Beth drew her stool back, and stood up examining her work. The job was quintessentially executed, and accurately expressed - even much better than she had longed for. She danced around her room, singing joyfully "I've painted my soul!".