Flash Fiction – Creation’s Point of View

Rose lineup Flash FictionOnce again, Flash! Friday rules!  The prompts on this one were tough – this is the first piece in a long time I really fought over.  I had a baseline idea and a fresh take on the thing…but using the painting as my main POV?

Somehow – I managed to squeeze something out – by the end of the piece, the biggest aspiration I had (which was the theme portion of the prompt) was to finish the thing!

I was rewarded on this one come the Monday judging – I got an honorable mention!  Here is the write-up from the judges:

An intriguing entry that took us on a sensory laden journey into the prompts. The perspective of being the art itself, voyeuristically examining the “muse draped around him”, was wonderfully atmospheric, and the layering of aspirations, from artist to muse, to the desire of this created object to become one with its creator was an intriguing approach.

Enjoy the latest little bit of flash!

Creation’s Point of View

206 words

A bold, heavy smear of ochre brackets a central, snaking ribbon of gold. Dots, dabs and squiggles of green intertwine with sage, mint, and plum.

Next: a cube of red.

Center stage – a series of oval, softly rounded blocks in a riot of blended colors, patterns, textures – crinkly yellow, dotted with crimson and cream; azure and alabaster stripes dusted with hazel; sienna and ginger framed with raven wings.

Vision emerges from concentric ovals – Stygian chips within white oblongs framed in tawny cocoa and coffee. I see, now, The Artist, fevered and pale, a madly determined glint in his eye. I see The Muse draped around him, diaphanous yet solid, whispering in his ear.

I feel the brush tickle as The Artist attacks my canvas in his frenzied ballet of creation.

Steely color and sharp lines: silver fading to charcoal, knife-edged greens below. Pale blue, wavering and distorted ellipses emerge to soften and balance. Determined straw slashes stretch, framing the red cube. Straight, uncompromising lines lend me strength, length, perspective.

Man and Canvas. Disassociated objects: one cloth, wood and paint, the other tissue, blood and bone.

But when The Muse ties the threads of our selves together? We are two objects sharing one soul.

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