Sticky Note Art Novels & Stories

Alice I walk over to the flip chart and pick up a red marker. There aren't a lot of colors to work with: green, blue, red, and black, but I think I can create something that will grab Nathan's attention. While music blasts, my hands work their magic. A smile is stretched across my lips, and I pick up my red plastic cup to drink while creating my hilarious art on this paper. I'm drawing a portrait of Nathan, but I'm being bold. This is Picasso's style I'm using for inspiration.

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.

One moment my daughter was fused to my shoulder, the next she was in Mia's arms, examining a blueberry muffin with the focus of a gemologist. "Go," Mia said. "Do the thing. We're fine." I went back to the kitchen table. Opened the laptop. The photographs were still there. The artist statement. The submit button. I read the statement one more time. I paint what's left after the storm passes. Not the wreckage. The part where someone picks up a broom. I pressed submit. The confirmation page loaded. Thank you for your submission. We will be in contact within 5-7 business days.

It may be childish but I don't care. I took the marker which was on the table. I wrote " I am a BADASS. stay away from me." on his forehead and draw some pig face on his other side cheek. hehe. ...... I took a sticky note and wrote " take a clear look at your handsome face in the mirror and admire it to have a good day. bye, uncle ( bad husband)..." and stuck it on the bathroom door. after completing my artwork. I again went to the balcony and looked down to find a bunch of bodyguards guarding the building. It's impossible to escape from here.

The smell hit me right away, not lemon polish, but warm cedar sawdust and roasted coffee. Sitting on top of a stack of bound ledgers was a rolled-up drawing. I unrolled it, weighing the corners down with my stapler, and found a detailed sketch of the townhouse's grand foyer in confident charcoal strokes. A small yellow sticky note was pinned to the corner in heavy, slanted handwriting. Try not to cut my stone budget in half before I've had my coffee. Wallace. I smiled despite myself, peeled the note off, and stuck it inside my notebook where nobody would see it.

The executives filed out, leaving me alone with the obsidian table and the folder Amara had brought. I finally reached out and touched the leather. It was still warm from where she had held it. I opened the folder. Inside, on the very first page of the report, was a small, square post-it note. It wasn't a message about the data. It was a small, charcoal sketch of a bird—a sparrow—trapped in a cage of lines that looked suspiciously like the Moore Crest gate. I stared at it for a long time. The lines were delicate but certain. It was the first time I had seen her art since I’d caught her hiding a canvas weeks ago.

I try not to let my mind wander back to the contract, the no PDA in public rule as well as the rule that he initiates all PDA in public spring to mind regretfully. "Come on, we still need to find you some art" I mumble against his lips with a grin as we finally pull away. It takes a while, nothing seeming to jump out at Rhodes as meaningful or special. I don't want to force it, make him get something that he doesn't even like. But I think this is such a good idea; a piece of art made by a friend, there aren't a lot of things more special than that. We arrive at one of the final pieces, a painting of a scenery, it looks like a schoolyard. Curiously, I lean to the side to read the inscription

Our little group held back, watching the citizens of the place we’d saved claim the art for themselves. “Go on,” Isobel said softly, standing beside me. “It’s yours, too.” I looked at Arthur. He nodded. We stepped forward. I dipped a brush into the deep green of the forest and added a single, small, deliberate stroke, a vertical line like the trunk of a hidden tree. Arthur chose the grey of the bluff and added a horizontal dash beside it, a foundation. We didn’t speak. We just made our marks, side by side. Lanc stepped up. He stared at the colors for a long moment, then, with a surprising delicacy, used the brown to add a tiny, square shape at the base of the bluff—a perfect, miniature house

I bent down to pick the phone, checking behind me to see what the noise was all about. It was the door as I expected. Which made sense why the room got a bit darker than It was before. I decided to keep seated on the rug because it was super comfortable. The scroll was an abstract sketch with a sign below that stated a name acronym that I have never seen before. I didn't know Shedrack's last name or his family enough to know who was interested in art. But one thing about the ‘art’ that stood out was the incredible rawness that enveloped all of its inches. It was a pencil art but it went way beyond just art since I couldn't understand what I was looking at.

“I learned in an Art school. Nothing serious. But… this reminds me of something. Or someone.” When the session ended, the facilitator smiled. “You can take your art with you, or hang it in your cabin if you like. Let it remind you of how you saw the world today.” Katherine stood and stretched, brushing bits of grass from her knees. Carolina was still signing her masterpiece in huge letters like a six-year-old with a crush. Across the way, Kingsley walked up to Katherine, sketchpad in hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey.” He held out his drawing to her. “I drew this butterfly. Thought about you the whole time.”