28 POSTS
» OCCUPATION (
Student/Musician
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» POSITIVE (
Helpless Rom
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Menma
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Post by Shurui Ai on Jun 18, 2015 20:31:22 GMT
Oh boy, boy,  It had happened by chance really. He never expected to find himself at an art gallery, nor actually staying to admire the art. He had been captivated by the array of colors and shapes upon the canvases. It was absolutely beautiful.
But really, he should have been going to school for an after school thing he had to do. Ai had left early in order to have time to leisurely get there, and now he had gotten sidetracked. Of course, by this point he couldn't seem to care nor did he remember why he had gone out in the first place. All that mattered now were the paintings and sculptures and that familiar tingling sensation of his muse reverberating through his body. Music notes etched on a music sheet in his mind, composing a song as he walked through the gallery, taking time to look at each and every painting in detail. Some gave him a sense of wonder while others displayed emotions of sadness and longing. He could feel them, the feelings that were etched into the canvas and it made that music sheet in his head turn from one to many as he made his way through the building.
Not that he minded. The boy with the salmon pink tresses was used to having many things vying for his attention at once in his head. He’s grown used to the musical chatter and embraced it, often writing lyrics for each one as he went. It was a practice he developed through years of simply letting his mind wander. It was nice in a sense—he was a daydreamer after all! Composing music kept his mind busy, even if he should be focusing on school work like a proper student but hey, what can ya do?
Humming a tune he kept observing the paintings before one truly caught his eye. His whole body halted as his amethyst pools roved over the canvas, taking care to inspect every splash of color, every brush stroke. It was truly a magnificent piece and he could feel his fingers itch, wanting to play his guitar that sat strapped to his back in its case. There was just something about it that puzzled and mesmerized him all at once and he couldn’t quite figure it out.
“’Gentle winds sing songs of love, a whispered language of things above’… no… not right…” he murmured to himself softly, trying to figure out just what it was that this painting was making him feel, his attention now completely focused on the task at hand. There could be a million people around him at this point, vying for his attention and he wouldn’t hear them. The only thing his mind was registering was the array of colors and what the painting was trying to tell him.
“’With no clear path they twist and turn, two cosmic beings burn, their yearning casting the galaxy into a fierce flame of the brightest vermillion and the deepest azure...” He pursed his lips. “No… that’s not it either...”
What was this painting trying to say??
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25 POSTS
» OCCUPATION (
Waiter/Student/Artist
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» POSITIVE (
imaginative
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» NEGATIVE (
escapist
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» PLAYED BY (
Oumae
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Post by MURASAKI KARASU on Jun 20, 2015 3:02:33 GMT
{ I feel safe in the 5AM light you carry my fears and the heavens set fire
Karasu was floating. His mind was full of clouds and his eyes were full of rainbows. A graceful red vase, the yellow of painted sun rays touching upon an acrylic blue sea, melting into greens and oranges. Waves of quiet chatter crashing around him, and if he thought too much about it, he was drowning in that swirling, twisting whirlpool. So he floated, pulling the already stretched out sleeves of his long white shirt over slim, oil-stained fingers. His teacher's friend owned an art gallery. His teacher's friend wanted to exhibit new talent. Karasu's teacher had insisted upon submitting some of his pieces to the show--and he was accepted. Weird. It was a show for new talent, but he didn't feel particularly new, or talented. Painting was old to him, ever since his tiny hands could wrap around a brush handle. It was breathing, blinking, natural. It wasn't talent, which was exploited and celebrated and special. It was so crowded, too. Lots and lots and lots of people milling about and talking away like a noisy rainbow. He focused on the piano playing quietly over the loudspeakers. That was a much nicer sound. He leaned against the wall, slid to the ground, wrapped his arms around his knees and curled into a ball. The owner had told him to stay near his painting, so he did. He was sitting right next to it. The painting. He'd seen it during work one day. He had sketched the beginnings of it on a napkin. He saw it through the front window--a couple walking in the park across the street. The streetlights had been shining like stars in the fresh puddles from the earlier rain. The still soaked street looked like a river. It was pretty, so he painted it. When he read about artists, they talked about constant, anguished struggles for inspiration. Karasu didn't have that problem. He looked, he saw, he recreated. Nothing special. The violet haired young man closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Ah, it was cool. It felt nice. He floated in chatter and darkness and broadcast piano for a while, almost half-asleep but not quite. He was drawn out of it by another voice, much closer. Younger, male. Murmured poetry that sounded like it could be a song. The artist opened blue eyes and glanced up towards the source. Oh, it was a kid. Well, not a kid-kid. A teenage kid. Pink hair and blue, blue eyes and a guitar strapped across his back. Something about the way he carried himself, how he studied Karasu's painting intently, made the young artist's fingers twitch for a pencil. It'd make a nice picture. His voice was nice, too--the boy's. The words he spoke were nicer, prettier. Picked up out of a dictionary and rearranged like refrigerator magnets into something new, something nice. Maybe this was the talent that his teacher talked about. Speaking of his teacher...there was a reason he was supposed to stay near his painting. So you can talk to people looking at it. See what they think. Right, he should do that. "Can I help you?" Karasu asked, softly replying to the boy's struggle. His head tilted, plum-tinted hair moving to cover one sky eye. MADE BY VEL OF GS |
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28 POSTS
» OCCUPATION (
Student/Musician
)
» POSITIVE (
Helpless Rom
)
» NEGATIVE (
Immature
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» PLAYED BY (
Menma
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Post by Shurui Ai on Jun 23, 2015 15:20:59 GMT
Oh boy, boy,
His mind continued to weave in out of lyrics, running circles around the colors and shapes of the painting, picking apart the soft gleams of yellows, reds and oranges that transitioned into cool shades of blues and purples. There was something about the contrasting colors that spoke to him, telling a story that he couldn’t quite hear. It unsettled him in a way that he couldn’t understand, not that he wasn’t trying to. He was very much attempting to figure it out for sure. Chewing on his bottom lip lightly, he contemplated with the couple under the umbrella could symbolize.
Or maybe… maybe there was no symbolism at all? Perhaps it was just a painting of what the artist saw. Perhaps he was just reading too much into something simple. He had a bad habit of reading into things too far. But at the same time, he could be right in his assumption that there’s some heavy symbolism in there that he’s missing. But what if it isn’t? Augh, why couldn’t he just make up his mind?! His brows furrowed as he continued to try and figure out what it was trying to tell him.
It was at this point that a soft, male voice, like that of a gentle breeze reached through the jumbled mess in his mind, catching his attention. Immediately his expression melted from confusion to surprise and finally to a sheepish smile as his bright amethyst pools met with a brighter pair of azure eyes, the shade reminiscent of the Caribbean Sea.
“Ah! Yes please!” he replied and let out a soft chuckle, turning his attention back to the painting. “See, I’ve been admiring this painting here and it’s really beautiful. I love the contrast between the warm colors and the cool colors and how they transition around the couple under the umbrella. I’m just trying to figure out if there’s a greater meaning to it y’know? Something as gorgeous as this, well it’s got to don’t you think? But, even if it doesn’t it’s still breathtaking. Makes me wanna write a song for it.”
He babbled away, not quite thinking about what he was saying or how he was phrasing it. Ai was bad at editing himself, not that he quite knew that he had such a bad habit. The roset was really just trying to put his point across without spending five hours explaining himself like he usually would.
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25 POSTS
» OCCUPATION (
Waiter/Student/Artist
)
» POSITIVE (
imaginative
)
» NEGATIVE (
escapist
)
» PLAYED BY (
Oumae
)
|
Post by MURASAKI KARASU on Jun 26, 2015 8:20:10 GMT
{ I feel safe in the 5AM light you carry my fears and the heavens set fire
Karasu nodded softly, listening to the boy chatter away, focusing intently on his words. Not only did Karasu like the boy's voice--something about it was musical, sweet to the ears--but he was curious. What about his painting would make the boy create such pretty words? A light blush spread across the man's pale cheeks as he lightly bit his lip. Beautiful, huh? It felt nice to have this boy call his painting beautiful, even though it felt weirdly ordinary next to the ball of energy that was the pinket. Though the boy was wrong--there wasn't a deep meaning behind it. Karasu lightly shook his head. It had just been something he had seen and recreated. That's all, nothing more. He found that whenever he tried to put any deep thought into his paintings that he didn't like them, so he didn't do it. Stick with what you know. His teacher had told him that once. Karasu liked that advice. He waited until Ai had finished talking and tightened his thin arms around his gangly legs, shrugging as he spoke. "I just painted it... I'm glad you like it, though. Thank you..." he said, voice soft and wispy like smoke. Karasu honestly didn't speak much, and on days like today when his head felt like it was full of helium and he might just float away, his voice tended to be airy to match his mind. A small smile slipped over Karasu's lips. It did feel nice, to have his work complimented. He liked knowing that somebody thought that something he made was pretty. MADE BY VEL OF GS |
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28 POSTS
» OCCUPATION (
Student/Musician
)
» POSITIVE (
Helpless Rom
)
» NEGATIVE (
Immature
)
» PLAYED BY (
Menma
)
|
Post by Shurui Ai on Jul 1, 2015 0:23:26 GMT
Oh boy, boy,
So it was just a simple painting huh. No intricate meaning, no symbolism, no extra things that would send art critics wild. Just a painting of something this man had seen. Granted what he had seen was gorgeous. The colors, the gentle, loving brush strokes that told a story that didn’t need to be written down.
“Simplicity at its finest…” he muttered, barely audible as his amethyst pools roamed the painting once more. It was a gift to be able to paint what you see exactly, and with all the little details and careful painting of texture and color, well, this guy could probably remember a lot of things easily.
But he seemed to have a wispy air to him, the aura of a dreamer who floated on clouds above the earth, never quite touching it even though his feet are centimeters from the ground. It was a seamless existence, full of dangerous loops and turns, or so his mother would always tell him. ‘Be a Dreamer, but remember to keep one foot on the ground, or you’ll float away into infinity.’ Ai was a dreamer at heart, but he always kept one foot firmly on the ground.
His attention turned back to the painting, and new lyrics popped into his mind, finally solidifying into something tangible, something he wanted to play.
“Nothing more than strangers
Passing by out on the street
Memories are fading though
It's only been a week
All the little things are gone
The things we used to be
Nobody could take us down
There was only you and me.”
A smile played on his lips. Yes, finally, the lyrics he wanted to compose were coming to him with this new information from the artist. It fit, the simplicity of the painting and the clarity of the lyrics conveying something that anyone could connect with. It was perfect. Lost in his own little world of music, he failed to see the painter’s reaction to any of his words.
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