[Tuesday|April 20 2011|0100 hours]
The address she texted Alejandro is a small loft, not far from her actual house. She had been shocked when her mother had first given her the keys, but now she accepts it. She has one ally for this passion, the one who is covering for why she's not at home at this time of night.
The loft is full of art supplies. Three separate easels, a stack of already-stretched canvases, drawers and files full of supplies and paper beside the lone drafting table. The sheer amount and variety of supplies is staggering, and carefully built up over time. This place is a secret that no one but she and her mother know about. And now one other, but for some reason Yue felt as though she should show him, without being able to put her finger on 'why'.
There's a laptop sitting on a makeshift desk. Now that the show has ended, she's muted it, but it's been on the whole time, and she's merely put paint to the canvas to match what she's seen. She hasn't done this in a while, and it always comes out looking rather surreal, if not completely abstract. Yue doesn't particularly mind...it's the joy of it that matters to her, this secret freedom that's hers alone.
Yue steps back from the canvas, hair pulled back in a harsh braid and stuck down the back of her t-shirt. For this work, a t-shirt and jeans is as formal as she gets. Now, to wait for him to turn up.
The loft is full of art supplies. Three separate easels, a stack of already-stretched canvases, drawers and files full of supplies and paper beside the lone drafting table. The sheer amount and variety of supplies is staggering, and carefully built up over time. This place is a secret that no one but she and her mother know about. And now one other, but for some reason Yue felt as though she should show him, without being able to put her finger on 'why'.
There's a laptop sitting on a makeshift desk. Now that the show has ended, she's muted it, but it's been on the whole time, and she's merely put paint to the canvas to match what she's seen. She hasn't done this in a while, and it always comes out looking rather surreal, if not completely abstract. Yue doesn't particularly mind...it's the joy of it that matters to her, this secret freedom that's hers alone.
Yue steps back from the canvas, hair pulled back in a harsh braid and stuck down the back of her t-shirt. For this work, a t-shirt and jeans is as formal as she gets. Now, to wait for him to turn up.