Saw Art Blank Novels & Stories

the voice responded with a hint of amusement. Sia hummed thoughtfully, then pointed toward another piece hanging nearby. “What do you see in this one?” she asked, her steps taking her closer to it. “Abstract,” he replied with little hesitation. Sia smiled and handed him a pair of sleek black sunglasses. “What do you see now?” He hesitated before slipping them on, his expression shifting as his gaze swept over the piece. “Blood... War...” he murmured, almost as if the artwork itself had stirred something inside him. Something so ugly and uncomfortable.

Gunner removes the blind fold and what I see before me brings tears to my eyes. From the waist up the room is completely surrounded by windows, letting me see the view from every direction possible, with french doors leading to a balcony. In a corner stands and easel and blank canvas’ of all shapes and sizes are stacked against the walls as a beautifully carved table as all sorts of paints, oils, pastels, charcoal, pretty much anything I can think of to draw with. There are expensive art pencils, paintbrushes, colored pencils and even water colors organized for me.

He waves me in. I slowly enter the room and take the space in. "Oh my God." I say as my breath is taken away. "It's not much, but I'm sure someone as talented and beautiful as yourself, could do something with it." I turn to him as he flashes a charming smile. I can't help but smile back and blush again. "I'll certainly try. I love a blank canvas." He heads for the door. "Great. I'll leave you to it. You'll be alone in here so feel free to do whatever it is you do."

he says and I chuckle quietly. Kyrah smiles. "Well, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, why not art? Although I honestly don't see anything special, it's just a blob, right? Snow would have done better with his tail dipped in a can of paint!" We laugh and people stare at us. "Let's not attract too much attention okay?" Scott asks and we nod moving to the next piece of art, a sculpture of a woman with no arms, with a baby on her lap.

I'm sure my religious Russian mother would've had a heart attack if she knew what I was doing right now, but I couldn't be bothered enough to care. A blank canvas has unlimited possibilities. While we start out painting the perfect picture, things don't always go as planned. Our canvas got smudged along the way. We accidentally mixed the wrong colors, and some of the lines turned out jagged. At the end of it though, it's ours, and that's what makes it priceless.

I decided to roam around here and touch objects. I walk close to the big painting in his wall. It was painted by a known artist. This is really a master piece. I also went behind his table and the breath-taking view welcomed me. WOW! I can really see the building from here! And I know this view will be a lot more better when it’s night time. The building will have light and you’ll see the cars also with their lights on. And also in sunset.

EMILY Mason is sitting on my cutting table eating a peanut butter sandwich and supervising my hem work with the critical eye of a five-year-old who has opinions about fabric. "That part is wobbly," he says, pointing at the seam I just pinned. "It's not wobbly. It's gathered." "What's gathered?" "It's when you make the fabric bunch on purpose so it looks—" "Wobbly." Mia is on the floor beside him, cross-legged, drawing wolves on the back of my pattern paper. She's drawn fourteen so far. Each one has a name written underneath in her careful, crooked handwriting. The latest wolf is pink with yellow eyes and is labeled AUNT SAGE. "Wolves aren't pink, Mia," Mason says. "This one

[ DESTINY CARTER ] I stared blankly at the canvass and the half finished painting staring back at me.I had been trying to paint something which comes out on its own from inside me but here I go with nothing but emptiness.The picture is meaningless and unfinished just like I am since the dreadful moment.

The exquisite mix of pain and pleasure making me ache deep within. "You're a perfect canvas to paint a masterpiece on," he says, sounding almost absent or far away. My brow furrows. "What do you mean?" Blaine tears his eyes from my body and meets my gaze, and the look in them makes me shudder. It's dark and sadistic as he squeezes my left nipple even harder, making me yelp in surprise. "Cutting is an art form." His other hand digs into my right hip as he yanks me forward so I can feel the cold metal of the blade in his belt pressing into my skin. "Blood is my paint and skin is my canvas, Azira. And I've never seen a more beautiful canvas."

He said. I thought about it. Sharing space with Cole and building a home together. "Can I think about it?" "Of course. No pressure. But yeah, think about it." Walking back to the dorm, I was buzzing. Not with anxiety. With possibility. Two weeks later, campus art exhibition opening. Sage has three pieces displayed. I arrived early to see them before the crowds. First piece: "Fracture", the fragmented mirror painting from her portfolio. Second piece: "Reconstruction", a girl putting herself back together with gold.