Astrid Magnussen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
white_oleander) wrote2022-02-27 05:24 am
white_oleander) wrote2022-02-27 05:24 am
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Room 210; Sunday [02/27].
Now that they were back from spring break and there'd been at least one afternoon and evening of recovery, Astrid was ready to get to work with all the inspiration she'd soaked in while in Kenya and Tanzania. It started pretty early; she'd slipped to the common room to grab some coffee and some snacks, and returned back to her room, door and windows open, and started to spread out and sort through the suitcase's worth of sketches and paints she'd done throughout the week, after covering the furniture and the floor with the tarps and canvases. Then, inspiration spread out around her, she set to mixing up the whitewash with which to cover the current mural on her side of the room (technically, it was all her room now, but there would always be sides), and then, roller in hand, she climbed up on the tarp-covered bed so she could get the higher spots near the ceiling first and work her way down with covering up what had been there.
She never even really felt sad about losing what had been there before anymore, either. The whole process felt like one of renewal and rebirth, perfect for going into spring, and into whatever waited for her once she actually got out of this place. Four years of painting and repainting, a cycle of images to reflect where she was or where she'd been or where she'd hoped to go.
She doubted this would be her last one here on this wall, but it was getting pretty close, and painting the wall white, once again, and the promise of possibilities therein, would never not be cathartic, nor a bad way to spend a week off that had given her a lot of food for thought. And whitewashing the wall was a good way to help it all digest.
[[ door and post are open! ]]
She never even really felt sad about losing what had been there before anymore, either. The whole process felt like one of renewal and rebirth, perfect for going into spring, and into whatever waited for her once she actually got out of this place. Four years of painting and repainting, a cycle of images to reflect where she was or where she'd been or where she'd hoped to go.
She doubted this would be her last one here on this wall, but it was getting pretty close, and painting the wall white, once again, and the promise of possibilities therein, would never not be cathartic, nor a bad way to spend a week off that had given her a lot of food for thought. And whitewashing the wall was a good way to help it all digest.
[[ door and post are open! ]]