Novel & Cerita Sticky Note Art

Aunt Tonya had told her about this place, saying that it was a workshop specially prepared for her. Although Sylvia had no memory of this place, she had a familiar feeling as soon as she stepped inside. She could not help but look at the complete sets of painting tools, and the two paintings hanging on the wall. The paintings were framed. Both of them were landscapes, and the artist's signature stamp on the bottom read: Sunflower. The signature stamp was placed in a box in a corner of the table. Sylvia lifted her hand to touch it, but when she remembered that one of these things belonged to her nine years ago, she quickly withdrew her hand again.

"In this version, you're here." We wandered slowly, no particular destination in mind, and it was near a small gallery, tucked into a quiet side street, that a piece of street art caught my eye— a mural depicting a woman mid-stride, her dress caught in motion, something bold and unapologetic in the composition that made me stop walking entirely. "I love that," I said softly. Noah studied it for a moment, then disappeared briefly into the gallery, returning a few minutes later with a small, carefully wrapped print, a smaller study of the same piece, purchased on the spot.

Finally able to appreciate the feeling of being at ease, she opened the art manual to find sticky notes bookmarking Hollis’ various chapters of interest. “Yeah, for sure. Did you draw anything after reading this?” Whitney had originally purchased the book for a new perspective on art, but hadn’t gained much save for re-learning a few new techniques she hadn’t played with in a while. But then, she’d been drawing from a very young age. She was curious about what Hollis thought. “I really like hatching...” Hollis grabbed the book back and thumbed through a few chapters before laying it back out for Whitney to see. “I doodled a bit, but threw them away. My art is crap compared to yours.”

And something hung in the air between them. Finally, Brenda muttered, “You’re annoying.” Marcus smiled. “You’re worse.” But his voice was soft. Warm. And Brenda didn’t walk away right away. Later that day, just before close, Callie was organizing the customer service desk when Eli wandered over with a pack of sticky notes. He handed them to her without a word. She flipped through them. Each note had a different doodle. A stick figure waving. A cartoon toaster smiling. One that just said: “This sticky note believes in you.”

I noticed that everyone was curious about what’s inside of the envelope, so I took them out. I made sure everyone would see my drafts on different pages of that white paper. Some were highlights of different colors, and I made sure some were sketches. “This is my art. I sketched all the important details of my art, if you want, I can do this again right in front of you.” I glared at Giovanni and he seemed surprised. He couldn’t believe that I had proof on hand. I was internally celebrating that I listened to my paranoid self, but it’s not over yet.

A small piece of paper, folded. I opened the window and grabbed it. My hands shook as I unfolded it. Another drawing. Same style. A house. Trees. A sun. But this time, the four stick figures weren't holding hands. They were inside the house. And outside, by the window, a fifth stick figure. Watching. At the bottom, in the same messy crayon: **I'm still here.** --- I don't remember running to get Louis. I just remember him being there, reading the note, his face getting harder and harder.

“Leave him alone, Luca. Not everyone wants to be a golden retriever jock with abs and no brain.” “Hey! I have a brain,” Luca said. “I just don’t waste it on algebra.” While they argued, I slipped away toward the back tables. There, barely touched, was the Art Club booth. There were no shouting and no flashy banners. Just a few sheets of paper pinned to a corkboard with pencil sketches and a signup list half empty. I picked up a pencil lying on the corner and stared at it. I hadn’t drawn since I arrived. Since I left home.

I deleted his number from my phone, a symbolic gesture that did nothing to erase the memory of his touch, his taste, the sounds he made when I raked my nails down his stomach. I worked through the night, hands cramping, eyes burning. By morning, I had completed seven new pieces. I photographed them against my skin, making sure the lighting highlighted the details that would justify the prices I needed to charge. The caption I wrote for the first I*******m post was simple: When they try to break you, make art from the pieces. I hit "share". * * *

The spray can hissed as she filled in the gaps, before pulling the second segment of stencil from her bag, placing it next to the portion she’d already sprayed, and continuing. By the time she withdrew the third section of the stencil from her bag, she was close to finishing. She didn’t want to leave the art incomplete. To withdraw from the task before completion was worse than having never started. When she’d finished, she discarded the stencils, stood up and viewed her work in all its glory, the black and white image of a homeless man sleeping on the tube. In the bottom left corner, her insignia was written in silver - FreedomAgain, with a small, melting candle next to it, illuminating the

The three blonde bimbos regarded me with both surprise and something else entirely. “Stacy will be down in a few minutes to bring you up to Mr. Anderson’s office.” I smiled and nodded. Instead of taking a seat, I perused the different artworks hanging in the office. I came to one and cocked my head to the side. Smiling, I shook my head. “Something wrong?” Looking over my shoulder, Stacy was holding a tablet, smiling at me. Turning back to the canvas, I gave it another once-over.