The imp looked back at David and smiled its goofy smile. “What do you think, Master?”
David pondered the reproduction of the Mona Lisa. It was impeccable, except she was frowning. David felt his lips curl into the same shape. “The mouth is wrong.”
The imp looked at the painting again and shook its head. “Nope, that’s the right one. Trust me.”
David pulled out the postcard where that enigmatic smile was displayed in its glory. “No, this is her smile. It’s world famous.”
The imp looked at the postcard and spit. “That hack, da Vinci added that later.”
David pointed at the postcard. “So you’re saying that you were the one who painted that?”
The imp pointed at the canvas in front of it. “No, I painted that. Da Vinci ruined my original vision.”
David picked back up his brush. “You know you are one screwed up muse.”
The imp laughed. “Da Vinci didn’t think so.”
David pointed at the postcard. “That’s not what I see.”
The imp disappeared in a huff of brimstone. David could feel a bemused smile grow on his face. Looking into the mirror he saw it then. The brush practically danced on the canvas.
He sat in the chair, transfixed on the clothed canvas before him, hints of what lay beneath poking out at various points. His anticipation growing by the minute, he was afraid he was going to burst before this was all over.
She slowly revealed her canvas, piece by piece. The art danced before his eyes, mesmerizing him as more and more of the picture was exposed. What he originally thought was a collage of disparate pieces began to coalesce together into one masterwork. Soon everything was revealed and it took his breath away.
She smiled a coy smile. “Want to have a closer look?”
He was shaking as he approached. Even mere inches away the art was unbelievably complex. His excitement threatened to explode. What stood before him was amazing in every way.
She giggled. “I knew you liked tattoos, but I didn’t expect this.”
He blushed. “You’re beautiful too.”
Painting his body with bruises
A cacophony of purples and blues
It really was a work of perverted art
Now she needed to dispose of the canvas
Passion pushed Marcus forward
After the first punch, Marcus tried to cover up
Instead he ate five more
Nothing seemed to stop the onslaught
Fighting had been his entire life
Until that moment when he knew he was over matched
Looking up from the canvas, Marcus knew his fighting days were done
Sometimes it is fun to take out my pallet and paint. I look at the blank canvas and begin to alter the world therein. I add a dab of the blues then lighten it with a bit of melancholy. Happiness is sprinkled into hope, but sometimes hope runs into despair. Painting green with envy can make the work more interesting, especially if envy is blended with regret. You always need some sympathy and maybe even some encouragement, but too much and your work would be labeled self-help, which is fine if that’s what you are looking to do. In the end I’m just looking for the right picture of emotions to make my work… novel.