Astrid Magnussen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
white_oleander) wrote2020-01-30 07:07 am
white_oleander) wrote2020-01-30 07:07 am
Room 210; Thursday Afternoon [01/30].
Between generally avoiding the room to stay out of Sabine's way as much possible and simply not feeling ready to force herself to climb over this particular emotional mountain, the wall on Astrid's side of the room had remained back for nearly a month now, but she was finally ready to get started on the painting she'd been sitting on for a while now. Today seemed a good day, since she knew sometimes Sabine worked on Thursdays, and there was something comforting in the ritual of pulling out all the tarps and sheets and covering their things, of pulling the bed away from the wall and setting out the paints, cracking open the door and the windows to let out all the inevitable fumes, though it was never enough, and you were always just a bit lightheaded by the time you finished.
It would be a process; she'd have to white-wall over the black, so that the deep blue she'd chosen for a background would set, and then she could started on the figure on one side. A woman, in close-up, done in pop art style. In fact, the figure was incredibly remnicent of Lichenstein's Drowning Girl, a connection Astrid hadn't made until after she'd started, and so now that blue background would become waves, because it fit in with her theme. And the dark haired woman she was painting would resemble, she knew, Audrey Hepburn inmeta for Breakfast at Tiffany's, and that was partially by design, Claire's personal design, perhaps, only this woman was far more skeletal, far more macabre, Breakfast at Tiffany's meets Night of the Living Dead, with sunken cheeks and deep cavernous eyes, onto which she placed two large, bright shining gems of blue.
And then the speech bubble, which swept across the top of the wall, and she had to grab a chair to actually reach it, where she'd eventually paint out, in careful comic-like script, the words TWENTY-SEVEN WORDS FOR TEARS!!!, the exclamations calling up the dramatic tilt of the woman's posture.
It only took up about a third of the wall, with a great space left over her bed, where she would eventually put up the tears she'd cut out and painted, like polka dots on the background, each one representing one of those words.
She felt, out of all the work she'd ever done, all the drawings and paintings and mixed media art, this was one of her greatest pieces. It was genius, she thought, even if no one would ever know why, and that's part of what made it so ingenious, she felt, and the fact that it was imperminant, that it was only a matter of time before she slathered more paint over it and covered it for good, never to be seen again, was what made it so heartbreaking and so important and so perfect.
But, more than anything, she was actually finally doing it.
[[ door and post are open, but some SP may apply, because I know how my Thursdays usually wind up going -_- ]]
It would be a process; she'd have to white-wall over the black, so that the deep blue she'd chosen for a background would set, and then she could started on the figure on one side. A woman, in close-up, done in pop art style. In fact, the figure was incredibly remnicent of Lichenstein's Drowning Girl, a connection Astrid hadn't made until after she'd started, and so now that blue background would become waves, because it fit in with her theme. And the dark haired woman she was painting would resemble, she knew, Audrey Hepburn in
And then the speech bubble, which swept across the top of the wall, and she had to grab a chair to actually reach it, where she'd eventually paint out, in careful comic-like script, the words TWENTY-SEVEN WORDS FOR TEARS!!!, the exclamations calling up the dramatic tilt of the woman's posture.
It only took up about a third of the wall, with a great space left over her bed, where she would eventually put up the tears she'd cut out and painted, like polka dots on the background, each one representing one of those words.
She felt, out of all the work she'd ever done, all the drawings and paintings and mixed media art, this was one of her greatest pieces. It was genius, she thought, even if no one would ever know why, and that's part of what made it so ingenious, she felt, and the fact that it was imperminant, that it was only a matter of time before she slathered more paint over it and covered it for good, never to be seen again, was what made it so heartbreaking and so important and so perfect.
But, more than anything, she was actually finally doing it.
[[ door and post are open, but some SP may apply, because I know how my Thursdays usually wind up going -_- ]]