Bound by the Brush

Within the sun-drenched, high-ceilinged studio of St. Jude's Art Academy, a place of exposed brick and walls papered with masterpieces, the air always smelled of linseed oil and expectation. The vast window looked out onto a bustling campus park, but inside, the true competition raged. Clara, identifiable by her coral-pink hair and a pair of denim overalls liberally splattered with the rainbow evidence of her craft, sat before her easel. Her canvas, a seemingly conventional landscape of a valley at sunset, was technically perfect but, in her estimation, missing a vital spark. Her special, hand-carved brush, with its bristles that hummed with a faint blue light, was a family heirloom, said to connect the user directly to the 'essence of creation.' Today, however, it seemed only to mock her frustration.