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Description

Cal flipped through volume after volume of the classical masters and the romantic masters and the neo-impressionist masters and so on and so forth looking for . . . well . . . she wasn’t sure just what. She knew she wanted her next piece to matter. She’d felt like the last several months she’d been going through the motions.

It wasn’t that the art was bad or didn’t live up to the clients’ expectations --- a nice piece for the new restaurant in city center, a decent installation for the public health administration’s lobby, two book covers for likely bestsellers -- they just didn’t feel like accomplishments. They felt like work. She wanted her art to feel again.

It was then she cracked open a volume of pop art, a style she rarely found much enthusiasm for. She appreciated the bold colors and heavy lines, the use of the everyday ephemera as inspiration, the graphic design nature of the work but it just didn’t hold any poetry for her.

But something about this one . . . felt . . . she couldn’t put her finger on it but she could . . almost . . . smell it . . taste it . . a fragrance gently rising from the binding. And it wasn’t the typical new book scent that she loved so much. No, it was something else . . . a hint of lavender and a touch of lemon at first then . . was that mint? As she flipped through the pages it grew more faint . . and then more pronounced . .. goodness, she had to catch her breath.

After a moment to collect herself, she closed the volume and took it to the register. The handsome clerk noted that it wasn’t her usual and she . . did she just . . blush? She did. Heavens, she needed to get home. She wasn’t feeling quite right.

Once Cal got home to her studio, steeped a pot of tea and sat at the kitchen table that doubled as her office space. She opened the book and oh . . that fragrance. She inhaled deeply. Took it. As she flipped through the pages. She sipped tea and appreciated the work more and more . . . but . . .she couldn’t possible create something like this and . . . she laughed to herself . . it is rather silly these . . . soup cans and comic book panels and . . . oh dear . . . she felt light head and need to lay down.

Cal cleared off the things from her bed… took a moment to tuck in the corners of the sheets and straighten out the pillows and such. She really could make such a mess of things when she wasn’t being mindful. She slipped into one of her oversized t-shirts and climbed into bed. Just a little nap. A refresher.

*********

Calliope finished her floral arrangement with a tug of the pretty pink organza bow around the vase. My goodness didn’t peonies look pretty this time of year all big and bountiful, much like herself after such a good night’s rest - giggle. She hadn’t slept that well in ages -- not ages! She couldn’t remember the last time she woke feeling quite so . . . oh gosh . . pleasant!

Perhaps it was the tea or perhaps it was going to bed at a reasonable hour or perhaps it was the nanites she inhaled yesterday upon opening one of the many pandora’s boxes that had been discretely distributed by Dr. Carson’s associates across the city. Perhaps it was their attachment to her neurological system, their assistance in helping her achieve a deep sleep and opening her subconscious, of transmitting a series of routines and imagery and suggestions through the space of her deep sleep.

Of course, Calliope had no such knowledge of things, only that she knew . . . she was certain that she had an appointment with the good doctor to discuss why . . . all the things in her life that really ought to be better.

And how lovely and thoughtful of him to have an outfit for the occasion sent to her home. It arrived that morning just as she was waking and finding herself, well, embarrassed to not find anything that felt appropriate for a visit to the doctor’s much less setting to task being productive for a day.

After checking the fit and admiring herself in the mirror with a flounce and a turn, she had slipped down to the community garden and clipped a few fresh flowers for her arrangement. It seemed like such a better way to spend the morning than getting herself all into a fuss with paints and paste and what not. When she passed by the kitchen mirror on her way back in, why she giggled and blushed a bit at image looking back at her.

My goodness, Calliope was really going to find her way after all it would seem.

Description

Cal flipped through volume after volume of the classical masters and the romantic masters and the neo-impressionist masters and so on and so forth looking for . . . well . . . she wasn’t sure just what. She knew she wanted her next piece to matter. She’d felt like the last several months she’d been going through the motions.

It wasn’t that the art was bad or didn’t live up to the clients’ expectations --- a nice piece for the new restaurant in city center, a decent installation for the public health administration’s lobby, two book covers for likely bestsellers -- they just didn’t feel like accomplishments. They felt like work. She wanted her art to feel again.

It was then she cracked open a volume of pop art, a style she rarely found much enthusiasm for. She appreciated the bold colors and heavy lines, the use of the everyday ephemera as inspiration, the graphic design nature of the work but it just didn’t hold any poetry for her.

But something about this one . . . felt . . . she couldn’t put her finger on it but she could . . almost . . . smell it . . taste it . . a fragrance gently rising from the binding. And it wasn’t the typical new book scent that she loved so much. No, it was something else . . . a hint of lavender and a touch of lemon at first then . . was that mint? As she flipped through the pages it grew more faint . . and then more pronounced . .. goodness, she had to catch her breath.

After a moment to collect herself, she closed the volume and took it to the register. The handsome clerk noted that it wasn’t her usual and she . . did she just . . blush? She did. Heavens, she needed to get home. She wasn’t feeling quite right.

Once Cal got home to her studio, steeped a pot of tea and sat at the kitchen table that doubled as her office space. She opened the book and oh . . that fragrance. She inhaled deeply. Took it. As she flipped through the pages. She sipped tea and appreciated the work more and more . . . but . . .she couldn’t possible create something like this and . . . she laughed to herself . . it is rather silly these . . . soup cans and comic book panels and . . . oh dear . . . she felt light head and need to lay down.

Cal cleared off the things from her bed… took a moment to tuck in the corners of the sheets and straighten out the pillows and such. She really could make such a mess of things when she wasn’t being mindful. She slipped into one of her oversized t-shirts and climbed into bed. Just a little nap. A refresher.

*********

Calliope finished her floral arrangement with a tug of the pretty pink organza bow around the vase. My goodness didn’t peonies look pretty this time of year all big and bountiful, much like herself after such a good night’s rest - giggle. She hadn’t slept that well in ages -- not ages! She couldn’t remember the last time she woke feeling quite so . . . oh gosh . . pleasant!

Perhaps it was the tea or perhaps it was going to bed at a reasonable hour or perhaps it was the nanites she inhaled yesterday upon opening one of the many pandora’s boxes that had been discretely distributed by Dr. Carson’s associates across the city. Perhaps it was their attachment to her neurological system, their assistance in helping her achieve a deep sleep and opening her subconscious, of transmitting a series of routines and imagery and suggestions through the space of her deep sleep.

Of course, Calliope had no such knowledge of things, only that she knew . . . she was certain that she had an appointment with the good doctor to discuss why . . . all the things in her life that really ought to be better.

And how lovely and thoughtful of him to have an outfit for the occasion sent to her home. It arrived that morning just as she was waking and finding herself, well, embarrassed to not find anything that felt appropriate for a visit to the doctor’s much less setting to task being productive for a day.

After checking the fit and admiring herself in the mirror with a flounce and a turn, she had slipped down to the community garden and clipped a few fresh flowers for her arrangement. It seemed like such a better way to spend the morning than getting herself all into a fuss with paints and paste and what not. When she passed by the kitchen mirror on her way back in, why she giggled and blushed a bit at image looking back at her.

My goodness, Calliope was really going to find her way after all it would seem.