Art Prompt Writing Contest: Nothing But Canvas

in #fiction7 years ago (edited)

tanglebranch art

Nothing But Canvas

 

It was nothing but canvas, the old man was certain of that. God knows he’d stared at it long enough. It didn’t take a close inspection to see the weave of the fabric itself, where the artist had used the cloth as if it were paint.

But there was something about the painting. It pulled at him, at his memory, as if something was misplaced, just out of reach. The moon tugged at him slowly, quietly, inexorably.

“Sir, sir!” Someone was shouting at him. “Sir, you can’t cross the tour line!”

He looked down at the blue line taped to the floor and then at the too-little guy in the oversized uniform shirt and the silly whale hat. “I... I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. The painting…” His voice was strained but quiet, almost pleading.

“Yes, sir.” The tour guide smiled. “This particular work evokes a response in many of our visitors. Most do not want to approach it, however.” The little guide lifted his chin and raised the lilt of his voice. “And we are walking!”

The group moved off with their guide leading them. Hundreds of other artifacts of the long-dead ocean lay in wait, each with a fascinating story of its own. The old man lingered, shuffling as if he would follow, but not quite accomplishing the task.

The group entered an adjacent hall and the old man doddered over to study the painting. He stepped carefully over the forbidding stripe and walked up close. The stars--some of them were painted but some were made by scarring the paint from the canvas, creating a hole in the medium right down to the white cloth substrate.

His eyes naturally fell along the image, through the moon and to the silhouette of what was, perhaps, a young woman. Her back was to him as she leaned on one arm, her gaze toward the fullness of the moon. Her hair was captured in a dance of ocean wind, her free hand raised to hold it from her face.

He reached out a wrinkled finger and stroked her flowing hair. He knew its smell, somehow, and with eyes closed he breathed it in deeply. He smelled it clearly--salty, yes, but with a sweetness akin to honey. He could almost taste it.

Absentmindedly, he drew his finger along the outline of her shoulder, not-quite remembering lost smells, missed tastes. Something here was familiar, just below his awareness. Inside, he felt connected to this scene, to this woman.

Who was she? She seemed so familiar. She was that song he could almost remember. He didn't know the words, or the name. He didn't know the melody, only the feelings.

His eyes traveled up past the moon to the dug-out stars again. He reached up and gingerly stroked a circle around one, then placed the pad of his fingertip directly on top of it. Stretching his fingers out, he found he was able to place a finger over five of the deep-cut stars. A little to the left were another five dug-outs.

Instinctively, without thinking anything more about it, he placed the outstretched fingers of his free hand into the empty voids of the stars. The clothes of an old man fell to the floor.

He is on a beach and she is with him. The song envelops him, and it needs no name. Its words are eternity. How long he’d been gone and why are not questions; there is only the Here, only the Now.

They relax on their beach of serenity, sharing all-that-is through their eyes. He leans back beneath the eternal full moon, takes in the beauty that is his never-ending answer, and blows her a kiss.



Thanks for reading my entry for the Art Prompt Writing Contest sponsored by @gmuxx. For more wonderful fiction you can click that link and browse the comments. Excellent entries. Good times. Wonderful art provided by @tanglebranch.

Special thanks to @jayna and @thinknzombie for comments and direction delivered through the Writers' Block queue. As always, priceless help.

If you like writing - if you think you might like writing, you should think about checking out The Writers' Block. Follow us on our brand spankin' new account @thewritersblock to see what we're doing lately. Click that image below and check us out. New friends are waiting just around the corner!

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Wow. No idea you were going there from the little piece I saw in discussion. Unexpected!

I stared at that painting so long... felt like I was being pulled into it!
'write what you know...'
😊

Yes! Wonderful. Just wonderful!

Thank you, John! As always, made better by the Block!

Couldn't agree more, Jon. The Writers' Block is the Mutts Nuts of writer incubation :)

I have no words. Just emojis. 😍😍😍😍

I imagine it's a strange experience seeing all these stories emerging from your art! Thank you!

@jonknight good job :-) another great entry to the contest.

Thanks, @jeffways! Good critiques from the Writers' Block!

Ok, you're starting to kick your romance writing skills into high gear. Very clever and creative angle on the prompt (and slightly melancholy).

Romance! What more could there ever be?
Don't tell me--I don't want to know!

Great work. Your storyline is so simple in concept, but you got so much depth out of it!

Thanks @negativer. With each passing day it gets easier to write about old men. 🕘

I sometimes feel like the CCR of short fiction: same three chords over and over but somehow, it just falls together fresh in each song. Working on a couple of new chords and maybe even a 7/8 beat!

I just realized I forgot to use the word "pocked" for the stars. Perfect story to use it. There once was a discussion on the Block about that word... could've pulled all that in here with just a word.
sigh

Ah yes. Pocked. I had pocked in my 'Numb' story in the queue, and people were questioning if that was a real word. Not that they didn't know what it meant...but if it was a real word. It sounds exactly like what you'd expect the word means.

Pocked.

Like our body as we get older.

ties it all together

after the contest i may work that word in here... it is a great word.

Great job, Jon! I love the concept of being sucked into a picture...often wanted to do that very thing. Depends on the picture, I guess.

There is only the Here, only the Now. Jon takes in the beauty that is his never-ending answer, and blows her a kiss.
OXOXOXO

Fantastic, @jonknight! This is so delightful, and the story really came into its own. I love it.

Had so much help from the Writers' Block! Thank you!

I love the literal take you took on this prompt that morphed into something magical @jonknight :)

True love is always magical! Thank you!

You have a great skill for painting a picture with words @jonknight. I just made my wife read this without seeing the picture. When she saw the painting, she said it was just as she had imagined it from your descriptions.

That makes me smile... thanks.