Part 1 here. (But it’s okay not to read Part 1 first, this post is standalone.)
. . . So strong.
Her name was Jaime. Naked her skin was blue in the darkness of her apartment in Greenwood near the highway. Others might have found the apartment too noisy with the highway so close by, but Jaime loved the clear bright light, that came in from the east in the morning and put her in a mood to paint. She had taken up pointilism in an art class at the community college last year, and even though the instructor termed her work “derivative,” she didn’t care. Filling a small canvas with tiny dots on the way to creating an image drew her close to Chuck Close, the artist whose work created faces out of individual mosaic-like colored shapes. She liked to think she channeled Seurat. She did not know how to draw like a real art student, but she reasoned, you could make anything with dots – wasn’t that how pixels worked on a computer screen? She could make art at least as good as computer, she figured.
She never would have started painting if it had not been for the book she found at the library that one rainy afternoon: Art in Detail. One hundred art pieces – nearly all paintings – each one examined minutely on the following page using historical and technique notes. Jaime just figured she could do it.
Anything was doable after she had successfully left her marriage. All those times André had told her she’d never amount to anything, that she was fortunate he had married her, that she was lazy and would never be successful.
Well, she was successful at leaving him, wasn’t she? And now, she realized, she had become a bodybuilder in her spare time and she was on her way to becoming a painter. During the days, yes, she worked at Office Depot in the local shopping center, mostly in copies and printing and sometimes on the floor, and there wasn’t much in that job to keep her attention.
But oh! the colors she saw in her painting. She saw those colors in her mind even when she wasn’t in front of the canvas.
I’d like to say thank you to one of my readers and fellow bloggers, Dahlia of Stories and More, for suggesting that she would love to hear more about this character’s life. To all my readers: I hope that she captured your imagination as well! I sometimes feel my characters live on even after my story about them has ended. Even though that sounds strange to write it down “out loud,” I know that it is one of the reasons I keep writing. – To learn more about the characters’ lives.
How do you imagine your characters? Do they live on after you have written about them? Or do they fade back into your imagination, patiently waiting for another opportunity to be written about?