Sticky Note Art Novels & Stories

With his bright eyes and his gentle smile. She remembered his words: Your art matters. Don’t hide it. Feeling encouraged, she climbed to the attic where she kept old drawings. Dust filled the air as she opened the boxes. Dozens of sketches and comic drafts lay inside. She took out her phone — the same one Ryan had once stolen from her — and began snapping pictures of her work. She uploaded them to an art website, one by one, even her old comics. She was almost done when her phone rang. The number was strange. Unknown.

Annabeth stands back to admire her handiwork, and I can’t help but clap my hands like a kid. With the addition of each work of art, the walls have come to life, the different shades of grey providing the perfect foil for the bright drawings and paintings. Next to each frame is a white card with the name of the artist and title of the artwork, along with a brief description and a price.

We watch and take notes like the rest of the class, until Tyler decides he’s over it. He nudges my arm lightly. I glance at him. “What?” Looking pretty proud of himself, he tilts his notebook slightly toward me. Instead of notes, there’s a badly drawn sketch of two stick figures. One is labeled You, and the other is labeled Me. The “me” stick figure is significantly taller. I bite down on a smile. “Don’t quit your day job, Brooks.” He grins, completely unbothered, and adds a tiny heart between them.

I whispered, nodding my head with approval before going to drag the bag containing the art supplies towards the picnic area where the tree gave it a beautiful shade and the other side is a beautiful view of the glazing son over the horizon of the ocean. As I knelt down, the fibers of the blanket tickled my fingertips, reminding me of the countless memories it had witnessed over the years. I retrieved a sturdy wooden easel from my trusty art supply bag, placing it gently on the blanket. Its worn edges revealed a journey shared—a multitude of artistic ventures etched into its surface. With a gentle touch, I adjusted its legs, making sure it stood steadfast and sturdy, a loyal companion for my

She said, and I smiled, taking a step back to look at myself in the mirror. I fixed up the small broche that was in my hair, it was a scorpion one, and ensured that my jewelry was adjusted properly before taking a step back just as I heard Arturo walking inside the room. Seeing him, the stylist, hairdresser, and makeup artists walked out of the room, leaving us alone. I turned around to look at him and he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest as he held a small blue bag in his hand.

I put my phone back on my desk and went to join the others in the art gallery. Leroy was busy talking with a bunch of men in business suits and Cassidy-Ann was discussing some of her paintings with potential clients. “Oh, Lila! There you are. This lovely woman wants to purchase ‘Whispers on a Beach,’” Cassidy-Ann said, gesturing for the woman to follow me. I grabbed Cassidy-Ann’s tablet and brought up her website and found her abstract painting of ‘Whispers on a Beach.’ It was honestly one of my favorite paintings too; I loved how she took something so simple and made it a whole story out of it with just one painting.

one of them whispered. "Something spectacular," replied another. "You've seen her 'Fenrir' painting. Whatever this is, it'll be even more impressive." Natalie arrived armed with a rolling scaffold ladder and stacks of meticulously prepared sketches on large parchments. Without preamble, she began affixing the sketches to the vast white expanse, creating a patchwork guide for the enormous artwork to come. Once the sketches were in place, she began outlining the framework of her intricate design with a fine-tipped charcoal stylus. The process stretched from evening into the early morning hours, her concentration never wavering.

Every time I lifted my pencil, my mind stopped working. Riley noticed. “You’ve been staring at that sketchbook like it owes you money,” she teased one evening. I laughed weakly, trying not to sound too frustrated. “Mara wants me to do something new for the showcase. I don’t even know where to start. I have to give her something.” Riley reached over and stole a fry from my plate. “Start anywhere. That’s what I do when I’m stuck. Doesn’t matter if it looks like garbage. Garbage can still become art later.”

It's very satisfying work, so much so that when I'm done with the first brochure, I pull the rest down off the wall and start to go through them one by one. In the second brochure, I make all of them pirates (complete with eye patches and parrots, of course). In the following photo, I give all of them racy tattoos. I make them into clowns and cowboys and mutants. I give them bulbous noses and giant ears and fish lips. By the time I'm halfway through the stack, I've gone through all my usual doodles, but I don't stop. It's childish, maybe, and more than a little bit dumb, but I can't help myself. I'll take any small victory against Carolson and Huntington Manor. It makes it even better to ima

I laughed, “They will be typical boys and that’s all that matters to me.” We parked in front of the craft store and we all got out of our vehicles and walked through the doors. It was definitely bigger than the Michaels we were in. We walked around and I found a couple of jigsaw puzzles that I liked and I found a huge paint-by-numbers kit that I absolutely loved. I knew that I would get it framed as soon as the paint dried. It was a picture of Selene’s outline in a starry night sky, with two wolves on the ground below her, looking up as if they were paying attention to her. I could not wait until it was done.