He had done it again, descended so far into his work that he lost himself. The little beep, to let him know someone had entered the gallery, had snatched him back to the present.
He pushed away from the easel. He always fretted that he’d never get back to that spot to continue, to finish, but he always did find his way there, and being a color pencil drawing, he didn’t have to worry about what dried and what didn’t.
Matt turned off the light and moved to the window at the door from the studio to the gallery. From the gallery side the widow was a mirror. Matt liked to know who was there before he entered.
The woman was only a few steps inside, doing a slow sweep of the shop as if lost. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open. She took a tentative step and stopped again, staring at a painting.
Matt hesitated. Something about the woman. Her lines. He grabbed a sketchbook and drew a 10 second gesture. Not quite it. The rhythm of her body was off. Continue reading