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No time for teen talk

I hear the studio door open. It always had that squeal, suck, pop sound. Like opening an air pressure sealed cabin door. I don’t need to look over the edge to see mother standing there with the phone in her hand, the image has already flooded before my eyes. “Bean, sarah is on the phone.” “Hm?” I mumble half listening, half hoping she’ll assume by my silent concentration that I’m too busy for such things as a nighttime chat with a girlfriend. “Are you coming or what?” “Oh, um no”, I say as I briefly set down my brush and look at my reflection in the dark window. “Ok, I’ll tell her you’ll call her back,” mother resigns. I hold my breath waiting to hear the squeal, suck, pop of the studio door closing and mother retreating back to the warm house.

I am perched on my stool in the far corner of the second floor of the studio. I had chosen this location, far from the stairs, far from light, far from eyes, for it’s inaccessibility. Well, not that it was completely inaccessible, but it definitely was not inviting of guests. If someone wanted to visit me up there and take a look at what I was working on I could hear them coming long before they got there and quickly hide works in process.          Satisfied that I am alone again, I pick up my brush and resume. My fingers are buzzing with excitement, I can tell this piece is going to be one of those rare 一气呵成 (to complete in one breath) paintings. There is nothing more satisfying. Back then, I had adopted a rule that no one was allowed to see my works in progress. And in this case distracting me from finishing was like something sharp stuck in the toe of a shoe, annoying and never quite relenting until you take off the shoe and dig it out. I was not going to take off the shoe though. I was determined to stay in this moment and see what would become of these strokes. As this website comes to fruition I can’t help but think this is somehow the same. The same in that I am eager to click publish and see what has become of all that late night clicking and tired eyed scrolling. The same in that I was adamant about keeping the in process product secret until every last i is dotted and t is crossed. I hope you will enjoy flipping through my creations and that you will come back again and again for my stories. I’ll be here waiting, trapped in the pages of my own creation.

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