(For my contributions to Sunday's Whirligig and Sunday Scribblings 2 click HERE)
From the given words at this week's Sunday Whirl, I have used the following; ream, translucent, pictures, trip, spin, vapid, grid, trample and dance.
His studio, a crumbling concrete bunker amid the trees. The artist stares at a blank canvas, his mind empty, his thoughts a vapid open space.
With a blow of his arm, his easel hurtles across the room. He tramples across reams of ripped paper and crumpled empty paint tubes, then crouches in a corner, head resting upon his knees. His inspiration, his muse has deserted him.
Through a rusty iron grid that crisscrosses the broken window, a sunray permeates the gloom and gently caresses his weary hand. He looks up and gazes as translucent shadows flicker upon the peeling walls. They dance, they trip and spin. The awful silence is broken as a bird whistles a merry tune.
He unfurls his aching body, then rights his easel and grasps some sheets of paper. He adorns his palette with paints of many colours then with flicks of his wrist pictures begin to form. One, then two, then ten, then more.
It was years before the studio was discovered. A glimpse of heaven one reporter wrote. Inspirational artefacts said another. Nobody knew who the creator was. Not a name, not a signature, not a single clue.