"Art is life seeking itself. It is our intractable expressions of love for the beauties, ideas and epiphanies we regularly find."
Harry sits down in the middle of his art studio. He smiles at all of the supplies he's bought. This is his favorite part. The organizing and sorting through everything. It's getting ideas onto the canvas afterward that become lost in translation.
His index finger rests against his lips in contemplation. "What do I want to say…"
He stands up and walks to the kitchen to get some water. It's not a procrastination tactic. Hydration equals a clear mind. He opens the freezer for no reason other than to open it. His eyes land on a resealable plastic bag with tin foil wrapped blocks of who knows what, shoved into the corner. He takes the bag out and opens it.
"Oh shit." He shakes his head and laughs. "Is this a sign, Matty?"
Inside are pot brownies from the last batch Matt made for him. Ages ago, Harry saved them for a rainy or in his case, uninspired day. He'd completely forgotten about them until now…
Those closest to Harry expressed their sympathies. They said his break would come soon. More of the same rubbish. Harry advanced to a new level of pessimism after that. As friendship goes, that's what you expected to hear. It didn't ease the knots in his stomach nor his bruised ego. Life of a starving artist and everyone else was full of shit. Maybe he wasn't hungry enough. Maybe his father was right all along. He'd be pleased to know Harry hadn't signed the final contract for his first exhibition. It was to be held at the gallery that could've given him the exposure he fantasized about since attending Pratt.
Unfortunately, the deal fell through due to some "scheduling conflicts." Which translated in the art universe, that a much more seasoned and well known artist bumped Harry's chances. He was in self-pity mode and felt utterly defeated. He told everyone. Probably his first mistake before he signed the dotted line.
Matt came by to cheer him up with Chunky Munky and pot brownies. Harry had consumed an entire edible before he took his coat off.
"Don't eat more than one, please. I don't want you calling me at four a.m., dreaming up some paranoia about your canvases coming alive to eat you."
Harry laughed while nibbling brownie remnants off his finger. "That was one time."
Matt rolled his eyes. "Know your limit, Lil Spud."
"I'll try my best, Spud."
Matt's smirk faded. "You're a lot like me, you know?"
"Am I?" Matt always saw through Harry's attempt at false innocence.
"Mm, you remind me of the young little shit I used to be."
"Me?" Harry's mock surprise forced a laugh through Matt's nose.
As always, Matt surprised him, "We got away from the ties that bind, butterfly." He waved a hand toward the window. "Found our hearts in this ridiculous city that never sleeps."
Harry's smile dimmed. "Yeah, well, some ghosts never leave."
Matt sighed. "True. I know that better than anyone." He lit a cigarette. "We share similar stories, hm. I claim heavy shoulders when I see them. So, sit up straight. You're making moves, caterpillar. You. All on your own. Yeah, this round went all to pot." He shrugged. "But you landed on your feet. You always do. They're not here to cushion the fall. This is just a blip. If it didn't happen, it wasn't meant to be. You've survived worse." Matt nodded once and stood up to put on his black and white floor length YSL chevron coat.
Harry cleared his throat. "Where are you off to?"
Matt waved his hand around. "I have a thing."
Harry shook his head and smiled. "You always have a thing."
"Well yes tadpole, that's the life, innit?"
Matt stopped in the doorway. "I've got your back. You know that, don't you?"
Harry's smile returned. "Don't make me blush, Matthew."
Matt rolled his eyes. "Fuck those tossers. You're too good for that toilet they call a gallery."
Harry threw his head back and laughed.
"It's annoying how brilliant you are."
Matt took a drag from his cigarette and spoke around the white smoke. "You were born to be an artist. The universe has plans for you yet, my little muse."
"I'm waiting." Harry slumped back into the couch.
Matt laughed softly. "The world keeps spinning, H. You choose if you want to jump in for the ride or stand still in the waiting line." He blew a kiss and said a final 'Ciao' as the door closed.
Harry remained seated for a moment while he drummed his fingers against the arm of the couch. Only a few minutes passed and he stilled his movements.
He jumped up and ripped his running shorts off to throw on his jeans covered in paint with holes at the knees, as he skidded across the wooden floor to his studio. From Harry's past experience, inspiration breeds on a whim. It could be a lyric he heard that day or the color of someone's eyes. Whenever the lightbulb appeared, he had to snag it before it faded. Also, he was pretty sure the brownie had kicked in.
Six hours and four canvases later, Harry's evolution as an artist had reached a pinnacle.
Harry snaps back to reality and quickly takes out a frozen block of Matt's baked chocolate laced with New York's finest green. He sets it down on the counter to thaw. He's feeling quite nostalgic and in need of some inspiration.
He looks up to the ceiling, a familiar reflex that began shortly after his best friend and mentor passed away. "Cheers, Matty."
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