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The key turned easily within the well oiled lock, tumblers making a slight snikt as they were moved into place and the bolt slid back. River gently turned the knob and then entered the brightly lit chamber that the Temple of Sune had afforded her as a studio space. Once the door closed behind her, the half elf expelled a soft sigh of relief- all the mental noise, the worries, the decisions, the plans and arguments of the rest of her normal day slid into the background; leaving her with only the task at hand. It was a good feeling. There was no moral dilemma, no concern for whether her actions would serve a greater good or not- there was only the paints, the brushes, the canvas, and her skill. She knew what to do. There was no second guessing, here. There was only quiet, meditative confidence as oil was mixed into the pigments, the paint thinned with turpentine, then the color applied to the canvas.
As she painted, she hummed to herself, occassionally giving word to the tune. It was a lullaby, one that a mother would sing to her child. One that her mother had sung to her. It was all that she had left of her mother, aside from the mirror and hair brush that Cody had made sure she got when she was old enough. Josephina Swift had been an artist too, although it was her voice that had won her the most praise. There was a hint of a sad smile then, for a memory that she never got to keep before it slipped away into the blending of ultramarine with a deep crimson.
She took a few steps back, twining her left leg behind her right and standing like a stork on one leg while gnawing speculatively at the end of her paintbrush. She wanted to see the progression of the composition as a whole: A field of dancers in the background, beautifully paired and executing the steps of a waltz with a solitary woman- the centerpiece of the painting- standing in the foreground, bathed in a nimbus of light, her hand outstretched to the viewer as if beckoning them to come and join her, to join the dance. River didn't know the woman who was the subject of the painting, she'd only descriptions to go by- which was, no doubt, the worst way for a painter to have to work. To overcome the problem, River utilized the radiant halo surrounding the woman to soften the features so that what shone forth the most was the woman's beauty, and not necessarily the number of freckles upon her nose.
The canvas was almost finished, and River was pleased with the results... as much as any artist can ever be with their work. Nodding to herself in accepting satisfaction, silvery eyes turned from the canvas and scanned the tall windows with the muted daylight of Aquor pouring in, then took in the rest of the space. It was a good place. A quiet place. It was, in the middle of all the confusion, a sanctuary where she could capture a few moments of tranquility.
As she painted, she hummed to herself, occassionally giving word to the tune. It was a lullaby, one that a mother would sing to her child. One that her mother had sung to her. It was all that she had left of her mother, aside from the mirror and hair brush that Cody had made sure she got when she was old enough. Josephina Swift had been an artist too, although it was her voice that had won her the most praise. There was a hint of a sad smile then, for a memory that she never got to keep before it slipped away into the blending of ultramarine with a deep crimson.
She took a few steps back, twining her left leg behind her right and standing like a stork on one leg while gnawing speculatively at the end of her paintbrush. She wanted to see the progression of the composition as a whole: A field of dancers in the background, beautifully paired and executing the steps of a waltz with a solitary woman- the centerpiece of the painting- standing in the foreground, bathed in a nimbus of light, her hand outstretched to the viewer as if beckoning them to come and join her, to join the dance. River didn't know the woman who was the subject of the painting, she'd only descriptions to go by- which was, no doubt, the worst way for a painter to have to work. To overcome the problem, River utilized the radiant halo surrounding the woman to soften the features so that what shone forth the most was the woman's beauty, and not necessarily the number of freckles upon her nose.
The canvas was almost finished, and River was pleased with the results... as much as any artist can ever be with their work. Nodding to herself in accepting satisfaction, silvery eyes turned from the canvas and scanned the tall windows with the muted daylight of Aquor pouring in, then took in the rest of the space. It was a good place. A quiet place. It was, in the middle of all the confusion, a sanctuary where she could capture a few moments of tranquility.
