The Painting of a Love
Feb. 13th, 2011 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charisstomaTitle: “The Painting of a Love: formerly A Work of Art.”
Author: charisstoma
Written for Sunday Snuggles m/m, first time posting to this site.
Content: An artist falls in love with his muse.
Oh to reproduce this composition in paint. Each canvas a highlight of that part of the person as filtered through the eyes and talent of a lover.
Word count: 1021
They’d lived in the same building for over a year now. Progressing through the various stages of nodding to each other in passing , holding desultory conversation in the elevator, and borrowing the odd item when it really was too inconvenient to pop out to the store for that missing ingredient. Kyle waited for the next level up between them an invitation to come over to drink a few beers while watching the game.
Instead he got the next better thing, a wet naked man at his front door with a towel suitably placed, pity that, and soap suds still clinging to his body. There were words of explanation and a plea to use his shower that bypassed Kyle’s cognitive abilities at the time, too busy as he was tracing the lines of the body in front of him with his eyes. He did remember nodding his head and stepping back to allow David to enter into his apartment, watching the rear view as the man walked by him on his way towards Kyle’s bathroom. It was a nice view and much better than the proverbial borrowing of a cup of sugar.
It was perhaps understandable that he’d be drinking a lot of coffee the morning after. Inspiration like David didn’t just walk through your door every day. There were two new canvases in progress in the sunlit areas of his living room and many sheets of drawing paper filled with smooth lines delineating the male nude figure. He’d made real progress with his portfolio but these wouldn’t be for sale at his next showing. A small blank 12 by 9 canvas caught his eye and the vision of a male body done in sepia and black formed itself measuringly against it. Time fell away as the painting turned from vision into reality.
A week or two passed as Kyle was driven by his muse. He barely stopped to eat or bathe and the glare of morning burning through his eyelids drove him from his bed to continue with his labors of lust. He had to admit that he was obsessed with his neighbor for all of the work he was producing were of David. A study of David’s arm, a study of the expanse of muscle in his back, there were even separate studies done of his feet and hands. The best ones though were of David’s head. Side views showing profile, some with the emphasis on the curve of his ear, one small painting of the vulnerable strong lines of his neck with his head dropped forward as if looking at something in his hand. Kyle’s pencil and brush made love to David’s body in each work of art.
It took him 62 days to work himself to a stand still. If not for the brief knock that happened on his door once a day he’d not have survived. He had his own version of Meals on Wheels delivering food to him, finding it set carefully on the carpet outside his apartment’s doorway. Kyle never questioned where the food came from or who cared enough to feed him. He’d just gather it up and later carefully return the empty dishes back where he’d found them. He thought he knew anyway.
One more painting was all he needed to make his total piece complete. He wasn’t yet sure on what size to make the canvas. Did he make it large, symbolizing the importance of the subject but surely the face was just as important with the beauty of the soul of the man to be seen in the eyes. In the end he opted to make two, at least, smiling at his whimsy for of course that part of the individual, this individual, was important. But he needed his subject to pose for him. This time with the concealing towel removed.
Looking around his apartment, Kyle realized that the sight of it would scare any sane person away. A waste of time when he could be painting but works of art needed to be paid for and the muse needed to be fed. A week later, clean of apartment and of body, hair neatly trimmed and pantry restocked, Kyle was ready for company. He needed yet to figure out how to ask his subject to come over to visit him and how to convince him to once more remove his clothes. Inviting David over to see his etchings was too pathetically cliché and transparent.
In the end he didn’t need to. David appeared once more, sheepish grin on his face, clad in towel and soap suds asking with a shrug if he could borrow his shower again. This time Kyle stepped back less shell shocked with simple lust and invited him in with a welcoming smile and a comment that David knew the way. He waited for David to finish in the bathroom bouncing lightly on his feet.
This time Kyle had sense to recognize the look on David’s face as he came towards him from being freshly showered. It might have had something to do with David letting the towel slip as he stepped into his arms and slanted his head to meet the kiss that Kyle was in the process of brushing over his lips.
“It took you long enough,” was spoken with a laugh.
“One can not rush art,” was patiently returned, “though I tried.” Turning them both, “Come look.”
The composition was made up individual framed canvases set together loosely in a put together jig-saw puzzle manner. Each painting was a perfect masterpiece of a different part of David’s body. In the center area were two pieces, a front and a back view. The head was even more complexly done with a halo of different views trying to catch the essence of the man. Only one area was blank, an area below the painting that depicted David’s naval.
It took them many posings before Kyle’s brush produced the missing canvases. They were never publicly shown, but graced their bedroom wall, not that Kyle thought the original pieces could be bettered but the view was very nice.
Author: charisstoma
Written for Sunday Snuggles m/m, first time posting to this site.
Content: An artist falls in love with his muse.
Oh to reproduce this composition in paint. Each canvas a highlight of that part of the person as filtered through the eyes and talent of a lover.
Word count: 1021
They’d lived in the same building for over a year now. Progressing through the various stages of nodding to each other in passing , holding desultory conversation in the elevator, and borrowing the odd item when it really was too inconvenient to pop out to the store for that missing ingredient. Kyle waited for the next level up between them an invitation to come over to drink a few beers while watching the game.
Instead he got the next better thing, a wet naked man at his front door with a towel suitably placed, pity that, and soap suds still clinging to his body. There were words of explanation and a plea to use his shower that bypassed Kyle’s cognitive abilities at the time, too busy as he was tracing the lines of the body in front of him with his eyes. He did remember nodding his head and stepping back to allow David to enter into his apartment, watching the rear view as the man walked by him on his way towards Kyle’s bathroom. It was a nice view and much better than the proverbial borrowing of a cup of sugar.
It was perhaps understandable that he’d be drinking a lot of coffee the morning after. Inspiration like David didn’t just walk through your door every day. There were two new canvases in progress in the sunlit areas of his living room and many sheets of drawing paper filled with smooth lines delineating the male nude figure. He’d made real progress with his portfolio but these wouldn’t be for sale at his next showing. A small blank 12 by 9 canvas caught his eye and the vision of a male body done in sepia and black formed itself measuringly against it. Time fell away as the painting turned from vision into reality.
A week or two passed as Kyle was driven by his muse. He barely stopped to eat or bathe and the glare of morning burning through his eyelids drove him from his bed to continue with his labors of lust. He had to admit that he was obsessed with his neighbor for all of the work he was producing were of David. A study of David’s arm, a study of the expanse of muscle in his back, there were even separate studies done of his feet and hands. The best ones though were of David’s head. Side views showing profile, some with the emphasis on the curve of his ear, one small painting of the vulnerable strong lines of his neck with his head dropped forward as if looking at something in his hand. Kyle’s pencil and brush made love to David’s body in each work of art.
It took him 62 days to work himself to a stand still. If not for the brief knock that happened on his door once a day he’d not have survived. He had his own version of Meals on Wheels delivering food to him, finding it set carefully on the carpet outside his apartment’s doorway. Kyle never questioned where the food came from or who cared enough to feed him. He’d just gather it up and later carefully return the empty dishes back where he’d found them. He thought he knew anyway.
One more painting was all he needed to make his total piece complete. He wasn’t yet sure on what size to make the canvas. Did he make it large, symbolizing the importance of the subject but surely the face was just as important with the beauty of the soul of the man to be seen in the eyes. In the end he opted to make two, at least, smiling at his whimsy for of course that part of the individual, this individual, was important. But he needed his subject to pose for him. This time with the concealing towel removed.
Looking around his apartment, Kyle realized that the sight of it would scare any sane person away. A waste of time when he could be painting but works of art needed to be paid for and the muse needed to be fed. A week later, clean of apartment and of body, hair neatly trimmed and pantry restocked, Kyle was ready for company. He needed yet to figure out how to ask his subject to come over to visit him and how to convince him to once more remove his clothes. Inviting David over to see his etchings was too pathetically cliché and transparent.
In the end he didn’t need to. David appeared once more, sheepish grin on his face, clad in towel and soap suds asking with a shrug if he could borrow his shower again. This time Kyle stepped back less shell shocked with simple lust and invited him in with a welcoming smile and a comment that David knew the way. He waited for David to finish in the bathroom bouncing lightly on his feet.
This time Kyle had sense to recognize the look on David’s face as he came towards him from being freshly showered. It might have had something to do with David letting the towel slip as he stepped into his arms and slanted his head to meet the kiss that Kyle was in the process of brushing over his lips.
“It took you long enough,” was spoken with a laugh.
“One can not rush art,” was patiently returned, “though I tried.” Turning them both, “Come look.”
The composition was made up individual framed canvases set together loosely in a put together jig-saw puzzle manner. Each painting was a perfect masterpiece of a different part of David’s body. In the center area were two pieces, a front and a back view. The head was even more complexly done with a halo of different views trying to catch the essence of the man. Only one area was blank, an area below the painting that depicted David’s naval.
It took them many posings before Kyle’s brush produced the missing canvases. They were never publicly shown, but graced their bedroom wall, not that Kyle thought the original pieces could be bettered but the view was very nice.
