We like colouring. We like colouring with crayons; wax, oil, paint, water, acrylic, plastic. We like colouring until the drawing bleeds in our colours.
/colours of glass/
The white walls and the wad of promised cash stood as the background of the largest building in the glass city. Behind the background, laid I. Holding the brush, waiting for the paints to come to life, draw a century of life and leave.
“You fought with her. You typed on the keyboard out loud. You cut the cherry tree. You won.”
The great Sapphic painter Fin struggled painting for the first time. She lived in a strewn home, a middle cut in the lefts and rights of the big glass city road would lead the spectators to her.
The only piece of glass in her home was present in one window occupying two floors which let the sunshine invade her territory. Why did she have a shop full of glass and call it a piece? She was scared of glass but she made it protect her home. She said the glass kept her from running away.
. . .
She liked colouring. She liked colouring with crayons; wax, oil, paint, water, acrylic, plastic and glass. She liked colouring until the glass bled into her hands.
/colours on the other side of glass/
For nineteen years of a human life span, she had liked Fin. She drew on white canvases with Fin. She coloured her lips along with Fin. She grew up with Fin for nineteen years. She liked Fin since she came inside the two-floored glass window.
“Spell liked Fin. Spell decided to live inside Fin. Fin decided to let her live. Fin also liked Spell.”
The spirit of the lonely glass home came to existence when Fin came home. Nobody knows about the history of Spell but she was a painter. She painted girls with glasses; reflections of girls in glasses; girls and glasses until the paper bled with glasses.
Spell and Fin had lived in a union for 19 multiplied days of the glass year. Fin knew that she hated glasses; she didn’t like painting; she didn’t like another presence inside. Days and years, the muse who took home inside Fin was painting for her; bringing a job; falling in the reds with Fin.
. . .
Fin had constants in her drawings: Spell, glass and cherry trees. Fin lived in the middle of the forest but only had seen one tree in her backyard. The cherry tree which outlived her parents, the cherry tree which never blossomed.
/colours of the cherry tree spirit/
Fin felt a soul inside her. The soul burned with passion, it lived, it ate, it painted and it never left Fin alone. The cherry tree however disgusted the soul. Fin felt her nerves burn whenever she tried to come near to the cherry tree.
“Why do all my paintings include the Cherry Tree if the soul inside hates it so much?”
All the paintings made sense to her. The constants of her painting were all a story. They were Fin and Spell.
The cherry tree wanted to take Spell back. The cherry tree wanted to blossom. Fin and the cherry tree would never grow until they
Revolt.
/the colours Revolt left behind/
The white walls are still white. Fin decides to paint the white. The white takes on a texture. It still remains white.
/newspaper excerpt/
Fin’s new painting is a diversion from all her paintings. The Sapphic colours and the storyline are no longer present. Instead the wall showcases a texture of a woman’s body trying to pierce through the wall. It can stand as a metaphor for Fin’s feminist take of life where women have to break through society. It is a clear showcase of revolt against the patriarchal wall which binds this gender. The name of this painting is “Spell, end" and can be found at The Cherry Tree Muses, Glass City.
Editor: Spell
Written by. Dahlia
Painting by. Holly Warburton