Hey, guys. I just wanted to share a short story I wrote a while ago. This story is only for feedback, as I am not entirely serious with this story. However, I kind of like it. 
I’ve made my choice. My mother was holding me back from my artistic talent, and if I let her win and keep me down, I’d get nowhere with my life. So now I run in the dusk. I need to find her, Gwyneth, in Greenswich. If I truly want to hone my skills, I have to look to her for assistance. Now, I imagine, Greenswich is not far off Only a few kilometers away. I should hope to arrive by the sunrise of the next day. I packed light, carrying only two loaves of bread, a jug of water, a few morsels of chicken, my sketchbook and quill, and a candle.
After travelling for what seemed like forever I arrive at a steep hill, and decide there’s no where to go but up. I run toward the hill, and almost immediately begin to lose my balance, and roll shortly back to the bottom.
“Hey there, need some help young boy?” says a voice. Out of the shadows comes a woman, probably at the age of 20. I look closely at her face, and see that she’s got wrinkles around her eyes, and I guess she’s aged about 10 years, making her look 30.
I reply in the positive, and she gives me a boost. Once I reach the top, I thank her, and give her a slice of bread, which she hastily eats. As I turn around, toward Greenswich, I hear another voice. A man has joined her, and I hear the name “Angelina” mentioned. They flee, and I can hear a dragging sound, as if they were carrying a heavy sack around.
I turn back, facing the direction of where Greenswich should be, and become confident that I’ve done the right thing. I climb up a second hill, and at the very top, I see the reassuring lights of Greenswich.
“Now, pay attention William, by mixing different colors, you can create various new colors, and create totally new hues and shades. Are you listening?”
“Huh? Sorry, Gwyneth, I started to daydream,” said William.
“William, we’ve been studying for two years, why are you suddenly losing your focus?”
“I’m truly sorry, maybe we can go on.”
I walked around the room, thinking of a new topic. Then I realized it may have been time to tell him my devoted maxims. “Ok, I will tell you two great guidelines that you can follow in your paintings in order to create wonderful masterpieces. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Gwyneth.”
“Ok, the first is, ‘Only paint from experience.’ Now, what this means, is that your paintings will become more enjoyable if you actually experience the landscape and activity being emphasized in the painting.”
“What’s the second?”
I stood over him, making me seem larger than I actually was, and said, “Look around you. Have you often wondered why I have so many paintings?”
“Yes. Why don’t you sell these? I bet you’d turn quite a profit.”
“I never sell any more paintings than I need to actually survive. I believe that once you obtain a vast amount of wealth, you become manipulated, and before long, it’s all you think about. This holds very true with my old colleagues. His name, was Miguel.”
“Miguel? I’ve never heard you mention that name. What happened, who is he?”
“It all began 7 years ago, when I began apprenticing this young girl named Angelina. When she first came to me, she wasn’t very skilled, and her paintings were very lifeless. I assumed that she wanted to improve, so I took her under my wing. Over the course of the next two years, I began mentoring her, and she sadly showed little improvement. I was determined, however, to get some great art from her, so I continued. It wasn’t until five months later that some of my favorite work was missing. I asked her, but she said she hadn’t a clue. I was determined to catch the culprit, so I laid bait. A small water color portrait I quickly painted that same day. I left it on the easel, and went out to wait. After a while, I saw Angelina walk in, and steal the painting. I caught her, but then, Miguel came in. He had a strong build, and before I could stop them, I was smacked against the wall, and I fell unconscious.”
I paused to see if William was paying attention, and he was staring very intently at my face, so I continued. “When I awoke, I found my studio in ruins. All my paintings, paints, and tarp were missing. All that was left was a bottle of wine that I had used to store acrylic paint. I wasn’t about to let this stop my painting, mind you. I went out, and spent the last amount of money I had, and bought a few paints, and one easel. With this, I restarted my life, and was once again successful in my own sense. A few days after, I heard that Miguel was on the run with Angelina, afraid of being persecuted. It wasn’t until seven months ago I heard that they had fallen down a steep cliff they had overlooked, and they died. She would have just turned 22 last week.
“So remember this, William, ‘Don’t let money and greed soil your paintings.’”
“William. On this day, March 15th, I am proud, to call you an artist.” Said Gwyneth, outside her small home.
“Thank you, Gwyneth. I still find it hard to believe that it’s been only 4 years since I began learning from you. I’ll miss you, Gwyneth, truly.”
“Wait. Before you run off, I have a gift.” Gwyneth ran back into her home, and came back with a small yellow box, decorated with a purple ribbon. “Open it.”
I opened the box, and in it, placed ever so gently, were three objects. A paintbrush, a glass, and a medium-sized bottle of acrylic paint.
“Gwyneth, thank you. I’ll prove to you that I can become a great artist, and I’ll start from nothing, just like you. I promise.” With that, I embraced Gwyneth, and I grabbed my bags. I slowly depart, peering deep into the sun, sure of my future.
I peer toward the hills, and suddenly, I think of Miguel and Angelina, and the sack they carried.
It’s been 6 years since I released William, who is now a grown man, and in that time, I’ve heard fabulous stories of his wealth, so I decided to pay him a visit. On the 6th anniversary of his departure, I walked into his mansion in uphill London, and I stepped into the front parlor. There, I saw several men dressed in suits, each looking fanciful. In the center, was William.
“Hello, William, I see you’ve done pretty well for yourself.” I say, cheerfully.
Once I say this, the whole congregation halts, and William stares intently at me.
“Who let you in?” he says scornfully.
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Gwyneth.”
“Pah! I know nobody named Gwyneth, and I certainly am no friend of yours, nor will I give you any spare change! Be gone!”
“How dare you! I taught you everything about art! Did you forget what I taught you?”
“You are wasting my time, beggar, all my success has come from my own effort, my own teachings. What could I have to learn from an old poor woman like you? How to steal?” At this remark, all the men begin to laugh. Feeling ashamed, I stormed out of his home, and leave his gift with a note.
I look at the clock and realize its turned 10:30. Assuring myself it was late, I turn off the candles. While walking toward my bedroom, I see a small box by my door. I tear off the lid, and in it, lay a bottle of acrylic paint, a paintbrush, and a glass.
The items seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. On the floor next to the box, was a small, crumpled note. I picked it up, and read aloud:
Here are your tools of patience and grace.
Maybe now you’ll remember what I have taught you
So, tell me what you think guys. I only want to improve. But if you start ranting at me, I'm not going to accept your criticism. I'm only accepting ones that actually make you seem like you want me to improve, not shut me down.
Still Life of an Artist
William
I’ve made my choice. My mother was holding me back from my artistic talent, and if I let her win and keep me down, I’d get nowhere with my life. So now I run in the dusk. I need to find her, Gwyneth, in Greenswich. If I truly want to hone my skills, I have to look to her for assistance. Now, I imagine, Greenswich is not far off Only a few kilometers away. I should hope to arrive by the sunrise of the next day. I packed light, carrying only two loaves of bread, a jug of water, a few morsels of chicken, my sketchbook and quill, and a candle.
After travelling for what seemed like forever I arrive at a steep hill, and decide there’s no where to go but up. I run toward the hill, and almost immediately begin to lose my balance, and roll shortly back to the bottom.
“Hey there, need some help young boy?” says a voice. Out of the shadows comes a woman, probably at the age of 20. I look closely at her face, and see that she’s got wrinkles around her eyes, and I guess she’s aged about 10 years, making her look 30.
I reply in the positive, and she gives me a boost. Once I reach the top, I thank her, and give her a slice of bread, which she hastily eats. As I turn around, toward Greenswich, I hear another voice. A man has joined her, and I hear the name “Angelina” mentioned. They flee, and I can hear a dragging sound, as if they were carrying a heavy sack around.
I turn back, facing the direction of where Greenswich should be, and become confident that I’ve done the right thing. I climb up a second hill, and at the very top, I see the reassuring lights of Greenswich.
Gwyneth
“Now, pay attention William, by mixing different colors, you can create various new colors, and create totally new hues and shades. Are you listening?”
“Huh? Sorry, Gwyneth, I started to daydream,” said William.
“William, we’ve been studying for two years, why are you suddenly losing your focus?”
“I’m truly sorry, maybe we can go on.”
I walked around the room, thinking of a new topic. Then I realized it may have been time to tell him my devoted maxims. “Ok, I will tell you two great guidelines that you can follow in your paintings in order to create wonderful masterpieces. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Gwyneth.”
“Ok, the first is, ‘Only paint from experience.’ Now, what this means, is that your paintings will become more enjoyable if you actually experience the landscape and activity being emphasized in the painting.”
“What’s the second?”
I stood over him, making me seem larger than I actually was, and said, “Look around you. Have you often wondered why I have so many paintings?”
“Yes. Why don’t you sell these? I bet you’d turn quite a profit.”
“I never sell any more paintings than I need to actually survive. I believe that once you obtain a vast amount of wealth, you become manipulated, and before long, it’s all you think about. This holds very true with my old colleagues. His name, was Miguel.”
“Miguel? I’ve never heard you mention that name. What happened, who is he?”
“It all began 7 years ago, when I began apprenticing this young girl named Angelina. When she first came to me, she wasn’t very skilled, and her paintings were very lifeless. I assumed that she wanted to improve, so I took her under my wing. Over the course of the next two years, I began mentoring her, and she sadly showed little improvement. I was determined, however, to get some great art from her, so I continued. It wasn’t until five months later that some of my favorite work was missing. I asked her, but she said she hadn’t a clue. I was determined to catch the culprit, so I laid bait. A small water color portrait I quickly painted that same day. I left it on the easel, and went out to wait. After a while, I saw Angelina walk in, and steal the painting. I caught her, but then, Miguel came in. He had a strong build, and before I could stop them, I was smacked against the wall, and I fell unconscious.”
I paused to see if William was paying attention, and he was staring very intently at my face, so I continued. “When I awoke, I found my studio in ruins. All my paintings, paints, and tarp were missing. All that was left was a bottle of wine that I had used to store acrylic paint. I wasn’t about to let this stop my painting, mind you. I went out, and spent the last amount of money I had, and bought a few paints, and one easel. With this, I restarted my life, and was once again successful in my own sense. A few days after, I heard that Miguel was on the run with Angelina, afraid of being persecuted. It wasn’t until seven months ago I heard that they had fallen down a steep cliff they had overlooked, and they died. She would have just turned 22 last week.
“So remember this, William, ‘Don’t let money and greed soil your paintings.’”
William
“William. On this day, March 15th, I am proud, to call you an artist.” Said Gwyneth, outside her small home.
“Thank you, Gwyneth. I still find it hard to believe that it’s been only 4 years since I began learning from you. I’ll miss you, Gwyneth, truly.”
“Wait. Before you run off, I have a gift.” Gwyneth ran back into her home, and came back with a small yellow box, decorated with a purple ribbon. “Open it.”
I opened the box, and in it, placed ever so gently, were three objects. A paintbrush, a glass, and a medium-sized bottle of acrylic paint.
“Gwyneth, thank you. I’ll prove to you that I can become a great artist, and I’ll start from nothing, just like you. I promise.” With that, I embraced Gwyneth, and I grabbed my bags. I slowly depart, peering deep into the sun, sure of my future.
I peer toward the hills, and suddenly, I think of Miguel and Angelina, and the sack they carried.
Gwyneth
It’s been 6 years since I released William, who is now a grown man, and in that time, I’ve heard fabulous stories of his wealth, so I decided to pay him a visit. On the 6th anniversary of his departure, I walked into his mansion in uphill London, and I stepped into the front parlor. There, I saw several men dressed in suits, each looking fanciful. In the center, was William.
“Hello, William, I see you’ve done pretty well for yourself.” I say, cheerfully.
Once I say this, the whole congregation halts, and William stares intently at me.
“Who let you in?” he says scornfully.
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Gwyneth.”
“Pah! I know nobody named Gwyneth, and I certainly am no friend of yours, nor will I give you any spare change! Be gone!”
“How dare you! I taught you everything about art! Did you forget what I taught you?”
“You are wasting my time, beggar, all my success has come from my own effort, my own teachings. What could I have to learn from an old poor woman like you? How to steal?” At this remark, all the men begin to laugh. Feeling ashamed, I stormed out of his home, and leave his gift with a note.
William
I look at the clock and realize its turned 10:30. Assuring myself it was late, I turn off the candles. While walking toward my bedroom, I see a small box by my door. I tear off the lid, and in it, lay a bottle of acrylic paint, a paintbrush, and a glass.
The items seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. On the floor next to the box, was a small, crumpled note. I picked it up, and read aloud:
Here are your tools of patience and grace.
Maybe now you’ll remember what I have taught you
So, tell me what you think guys. I only want to improve. But if you start ranting at me, I'm not going to accept your criticism. I'm only accepting ones that actually make you seem like you want me to improve, not shut me down.
