Sticky Note Art Novels & Stories

The sound of the charcoal scratching against the paper was like a fingernail on Adrian’s brain. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. "Stop that," Adrian said, his eyes still fixed on the wall. "Stop what? Breathing? Existing?" "The noise. It’s disruptive." "It’s art, Adrian. Try it sometime. It’s better than staring at a white wall like a serial killer." Adrian turned his head, intending to confiscate the pad. But his eyes landed on the drawing. It wasn't a mural. It wasn't abstract.

Every car that passed made her flinch. She checked her front door again. The hallway beyond looked too still. But this time, there was something. An envelope. Plain white. No name. Just the same crescent-eye symbol drawn on the front in black ink. She hesitated before picking it up. Her instincts screamed don’t, but curiosity was stronger. Inside was a printed page. One line only: “Truth is an art. Let’s finish the exhibition together.” And beneath it a signature she hadn’t seen in years.

Lumabas kami ng iilang kasama sa club para kunin ang natitirang materials para sa ginagawa. The board was finished so we already opened it for the students. May iilan nang naglalagay ng sticky notes at kung anu-ano sa pin board. It was not small yet not big also, enough to accommodate small papers. Natatagalan kami sa wall painting kahit marami-rami naman kami. It was intricate and we took the designs carefully. Malaki iyon at hindi lang naman modern art ang ginagawa namin. It was a mixture of old-traditional art and the modern art. May iba't-ibang konsepto ang pinipinta.

I scoffed and adjusted in the warm fuzzy cushion keeping my eyes on the sand glass that was inverted and draining slowly. This office space was warm and cozy especially for one that wasn't a private practice. It had daring art pieces on a wall, one of a picture of a face mostly the tongue with sink hole drainage and another beside with a padlock on the lips and the last of a girl with bright eyes and a protruding tongue with a wide smile.

Warm air immediately wrapped around them. The room smelled faintly of paint and coffee. People moved slowly around white walls covered with artwork. Jessica looked around quietly. Landscapes. Portraits. Abstract paintings. Photography. Sketches. Pieces of people's thoughts hanging on walls. People's memories. People's feelings. People's stories. Jessica moved slowly through the room. Looking. Really looking. One painting caught her attention immediately. It showed a woman standing beneath dark storm clouds. But above her, tiny breaks in the clouds allowed light through.

Levi was curled up in my chair, doodling on a pad of paper, tongue sticking out in concentration. “Mom, look,” he said, holding up the page. He’d drawn the two of us, stick figures holding hands, with a giant sun overhead. My chest tightened. “That’s beautiful, sweetheart.” I took the drawing and pinned it to the corkboard above my desk. “Now it’s official hospital art.” He beamed, and for a moment, it felt like nothing could touch us. Then I saw the envelope. It was lying on my desk, plain white, my name typed neatly across the front. No return address, but I didn’t need one. The weight of it in my hand was enough to make my stomach knot.

“This isn’t a normal sticky note. It’s art.” I walked over and peeled the yellow square from the wall. On it were three lines, one circle, and something that might have been a crown or an injured potato. “What is this?” “Bunny’s logo.” “Bunny looks like he survived a shipwreck.” “Mommy doesn’t understand modern art.” Sebastian came to stand beside me. I could feel the warmth of his body against the side of my arm. Not touching, but close enough to interfere with my concentration.

The minute he opened it, his stomach twisted in recognition. Inside was Medical-grade scar care products. He knew because he’d done research about it once but it was out of stock at the time so he settled for tattoos and after that, he just couldn’t stop. He reached for the note inside, his fingers trembling slightly. There was nothing except one simple sentence written in stunning cursive letters. One that made his heart flutter. “You're beautiful, Art.”

The sun shone brightly over the city, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets. Andrea's art studio was a hub of creativity, filled with paintings that told stories of hope and resilience. Her latest exhibition, "Rebirth," had received critical acclaim, and art enthusiasts from all over the world flocked to see her work. The studio was a reflection of her soul, a place where she poured her heart and emotions into every brushstroke. As she stood amidst her artwork, she felt a sense of pride and accomplishment.

I smile again. I put my phone down, and began typing up my detailed plans. I’m changing that nasty grey color to green. Warm. Inviting. Royal Orchard, Bitter Sage, and Green Balsam. I even put down the name of the paint company and listed trusted painters from the company to do the job. Although, I’d probably help them out too. After all the plans have been typed out, I only placed “a delicate surprise” as to where I’m getting the artwork from. I don’t want him to know that I’ve already contacted the art department of a local university to help display their students work. I’m just waiting on an email with the images to sort through the potential artwork ranging from paintings and sculptures