Asterisk Monthly: About Watercolors [Sept, 2020]
Writing Prompt: Watercolor
September, 2020. The pandemic is still here but so are we. Writing, of course. In this month, also paiting. Finally a one word writing prompt: Watercolor. Reasons for this prompt are quite selfish as usual: I wanted to paint. I also wanted to see people’s art. Selfishly, I got what I wanted. A big thank you to the members who are still here with us. Here’s everything we got:
Beatriz Cunha
Ana Azevedo
I could sense it was the end because the world was ending around us.
It made sense we’d get destroyed if everything else was falling apart too.
So I put out all the brushes and painting out so we could get to work as fast as we could — document everything on blank pieces of paper,
trace the lines with pale watercolor,
With just enough time to dry and hang it up on walls.
I don’t think I had time to tell them how important that was
but they painted anyway.
Tiny hands and soft laughter — the atmosphere of the end and the beginning of everything else;
Now I know their fingerprints will be there as evidence when everything is once again restored.
It can’t be erased. I made sure they used paint — not pencils.
Regiane Folter
I consider myself an artist. Kind of. I mean, I write. However, I have this silly belief that true artists are those that can sing, play an instrument, or paint. Don’t know why. I guess I associate their skills better with the idea of being an artist. As I said, silly.
If only a musician or a painter could be considered an artist based on my assumption, I wouldn’t make the cut. I can’t sing (only in the shower hehe), I never had the persistence of learning a musical instrument, and I definitely can’t draw or paint. Don’t get me wrong, I tried. Last year I participated in two lettering courses because I thought it was a nice way to join my passion for the words and my aspirations to become a painter. I played around with crayons, color pencils and watercolors. And I had fun! Below you can see an example of something I created back then. However, something was still missing. I couldn’t create straight lines, I wasn’t able to make perfect traces. I’m not that stable.
As with so many activities I tried to pursue in my life, at some point I abandoned the lettering practice. I conserve my “best” work in a folder and sometimes I take a look, feeling nostalgic. It’s nice to see those bright colors and feel the texture of the watercolors under my fingers. But at least for now I’ve decided to change my perspective and boost my artistic vein doing what I love the most, what I feel that is never wrong or out of place. I’m an artist. I write.
Guilherme Aniceto
Dear Gabe,
I’m writing you to tell you that my mother is starting to accept you. Maybe my next letter’s going to be an invitation. Keep your hopes up.
Additionally, I’ve sent you a package, alongside these words. I don’t know which one will arrive first on your hands. My fingers are crossed that you’ll come up with this explanation first. Otherwise, please be kind.
I’ve sent you a canvas. I’ve painted a rainbow but, as you can’t tell the difference between me and my insanity, you’re going to be confused. Sorry about that.
You’ve mentioned once, I remember, that you love natural colors. I can’t tell you any context now, ’cause I just don’t recall situations, only highlights. You know me. The point is: you’ve said you’re into colorful images. So am I. And that’s precisely why I’ve painted you a rainbow, in watercolors.
I’m quite insane sometimes, I admit. So, what if my rainbow resembles an accident with paint and water? That’s still a depiction of my love for you.
It’s funny, though. I can’t love straight. Neither can I paint. I can’t even represent a rainbow or any kind of symbol. Not straight. All of me is watercolor. All in me is twisted in the colors I’ve shown you.
Hope you like it.
Love,
Will.
Júnior
Watercolor memories.
So the girl was looking around and introduced the main thought to a Friend.
About the darkness and light co-existent.
About the search in each person crossing by.
About how many times you can stumble a person non know until both meet eventually and talk about how many times they probably stumble in the same areas.
And the boy, he was shy enough to just stand and listen to her.
Gabriela Prado
Little flowers everywhere. Little lights all night. I like to watch the petals fall and grow back, It’s like I’m watching the hole cycle of life… if I can I will give petals, but if I don’t, I will do my best to make them blossom.
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