Sticky Note Art Novels & Stories

I commented pointing to the large photo of a butterfly with such details on each wing that sat on the wall, the woman nodding her head with a smile. “That was painted by a local artiest, each wing holds the names of each former rouge we were able to help and send to a new pack. We have more of her artwork I will be happy to show you.” The woman explained the nice story behind the artwork before walking away to retrieve the artwork, leaving me a moment to look over to Lee who hadn’t left my side at all.

"Show it to us, then." Brie signaled at the staff member. The staff member didn't move and looked at Jude. Jude waved his hand. "Go ahead. I'd like to see Carrie's gift for me too." Only then did the staff member step away and bring the poster tube over. Upon unfolding it, they found that it was a piece of art done by Zach Zimmer, who wasn't well-known in the industry. If Brie hadn't bid on the painting out of spite, she wouldn't have known about such an artist.

She was so gone in her thoughts that she didn't notice the gorgeous building before her. It was modern style and the graffiti walls looked awesome. Most were doodle arts and there were some calligrams too. "How did you paint this?" Marvin was curious. It was the picture of the True Hate band but the picture looked okay from afar. But when you went near it, it was different. For example, Oggy's picture was made of his name Oggy. Chase's picture was totally made from his name Chase. Nigel and Shay had their pictures in the same way too.

“I notice everything about you. The way you chew your lip when you’re concentrating. The way your left sock always slides down. The way you hum when you paint.” I swallowed hard. “I have something for you.” I pulled a small envelope from my pocket. Inside: a single sheet of watercolor paper, folded into a crane. I unfolded it carefully. On the paper, I’d painted a timeline of us—stick figures in a coffee shop, stick figures on a rooftop, stick figures holding hands in a hospital hallway. At the bottom, in shaky watercolor script: No more running. No more hiding. Just us. He stared at it for a long minute. Then he folded it back into a crane, tucked it into his wallet like it was a secret spe

In a brief sweep of the camera, I caught a glimpse of a manicured garden through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Absurdly, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the piece of A4 with kiddish scribbles that read, “Sam and Ter, together forever!” That was from a month ago, when I was overcome with a moment of creativity during a late-night shift. I doodled something and sent him a picture. Terry even complimented my art for its unique, childlike whimsy. The supposed masterpiece, valued at no more than fifty cents with the paper included, hung right next to a Picasso.

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.”

He understood the situation and kindly said, "There's no rush. I can wait. After all, I'll be worried if someone else restores it." "Thank you for trusting me, Mr. Gabelman Senior." Holly looked up and saw the two paintings she had given Abelin previously. They were framed properly and displayed on the wall. There were Dorian Hodge's "Shadow Scape" and the "Deadwood Jackdaw". They looked lonely on the wall. They were also marked with Zorro's stamp of collection. Seeing how Holly was looking at the paintings, Zorro followed her gaze with his hands behind his back.

In another light, it could look intimate. The last photo—my stomach dropped. I was leaning in toward Caleb, our faces inches apart, a moment frozen in time that could easily be misconstrued. Tucked among the photos, a neon-green sticky note with one word scrawled across it: whore. A chill spread through me. I shoved the photos back into the envelope, as if that alone could make them disappear. My gaze darted around the room, a sudden, sharp awareness that anyone could walk in and see what I held. If Nitta walked in now, would he take them straight to Ryuu?

“This is a thing?” He nodded. “It is. This artist has an I*******m account, and she posts photos of her work. They don’t last long because of vandalism or sometimes they just get ruined because they’re so tiny and no one sees them, but there are a few around if you know where to look.”

However, to my surprise, he pointed to the artwork I’d made on his wall. It was a small collection of stick figures gathered around a lake, that was the huge patch. On the patch were ducks, and stick figures fishing or swimming, while others were building a raft, daydreaming about sailing around the big blue world. Around the "lake" smiling stick figures were gathered around a bonfire or pitching up a tent. One guy was relaxing in a hemic that he'd put up between two trees and in a place by themselves, two figures were making sweet music on a charcoal guitar. “You like it?” I grinned, happier than I’d felt in a long time.