Post by Naia Shahrizai on Oct 6, 2009 16:24:55 GMT -5
It had taken several weeks, but I'd finally finished it, the painting I had been working on during every spare moment. I kept all of my painting supplies secreted in my room, which Sarielle graciously never entered without permission, and therefore had no idea of the time I spent painting and drawing. She probably thought I was sulking, which was likely true at least some of the time.
Ever since that night I'd stayed with Balta, I'd thought often about the things he said and the way he made me feel. We worked together, and had attended an event together, and in general I had to say that I liked him much more than anyone else whose company I had spent a similar amount of time in. I genuinely respected him, and so I had studied him. Whenever we were at El Parra, I would watch him, his mannerisms, the way his hair curled, the light in his eyes. After much studying, I had first sketched, then painted him a portrait, one of which I was quite proud of. I knew that I was talented, but this painting had far exceeded my expectations, and I think I could attribute that to the fact that this painting was the result of much thought and reflection, and more care had gone into it's rendering because of that.
So here I was, walking the distance from my home to his, the painting well wrapped in brown paper, tied with string. As I turned the corner of Balta's street, I saw someone leaving the walkway of his home, going the other direction at a pace that was just short of running. The figure seemed familiar, but I could not place it right away. Telling myself it would come to me, I continued on my way until I was at Balta's door, where I knocked lightly, hoping that this wasn't a bad time.
Ever since that night I'd stayed with Balta, I'd thought often about the things he said and the way he made me feel. We worked together, and had attended an event together, and in general I had to say that I liked him much more than anyone else whose company I had spent a similar amount of time in. I genuinely respected him, and so I had studied him. Whenever we were at El Parra, I would watch him, his mannerisms, the way his hair curled, the light in his eyes. After much studying, I had first sketched, then painted him a portrait, one of which I was quite proud of. I knew that I was talented, but this painting had far exceeded my expectations, and I think I could attribute that to the fact that this painting was the result of much thought and reflection, and more care had gone into it's rendering because of that.
So here I was, walking the distance from my home to his, the painting well wrapped in brown paper, tied with string. As I turned the corner of Balta's street, I saw someone leaving the walkway of his home, going the other direction at a pace that was just short of running. The figure seemed familiar, but I could not place it right away. Telling myself it would come to me, I continued on my way until I was at Balta's door, where I knocked lightly, hoping that this wasn't a bad time.