Spectrum Clawsion
Working as an art professor may not have been her dream, but somehow Leonah found she enjoyed being in the classroom and teaching others. Being a full-time artist was her true dream, selling the paintings she was inspired to create, but having her own gallery and making money teaching others was close enough. Spending time with her students always seemed to spark something within her, some deeper level of creativity she had never reached on her own. And so she had been a professor here at the local college for the past two years, soaking up every bit of artistic muse she could.
As much as she loved teaching, however, students were naturally curious creatures. Most of the time the questions were innocent enough, asking what inspired her, what she liked and disliked about being an artist. Once in awhile, a question she wasn't prepared for would throw her off guard, no matter how many times she seemed to hear the questions.
Do your parents paint too?
It was the question she always dreaded hearing and never seemed to have the right answer for. Growing up in an orphanage left her with so little information about her family and where she'd come from. There were glimpses she would get from time to time; flashes of her parents, happy and smiling together. And painting. She didn't know if they were memories or fantasies but she always saw her mother as the artist, her father watching on with beaming appreciation, the sun streaming in through the enormous bay windows of her studio.
It was like a scene from a book, and maybe it was... But she had always hoped she was remembering them. And because of those memories, she had always felt a drive to paint. It was a link to a past she wasn't even sure was real, but each time she painted she felt closer to it. Closer to her lost family... closer to something tangible.
I don't know.
It was the answer she hated giving, but it was the only one she had. When she showed up at the front door of the orphanage, just barely four years old, she'd had nothing but the clothing on her back. The biting cold of the rain that day still stung, even now as she remembered looking up with her wide, green eyes, silently pleading for the nun looming in the doorway to give her passage.
She hadn't known what she was getting into, but she had never had a choice. Legally she couldn't care for herself, and at four years old she wasn't so sure she could have lived on the streets successfully. Despite the poverty level of the orphanage itself, she had scrounged up enough of her own coin over a few years to buy some rudimentary paints and paper, needing an outlet. The memories drove her to seek that creative outlet, putting her somber and lonely feelings on paper with bright reds and deep blues. The nuns hadn't approved of her choices and tried to cease her creativity, but she prevailed. The paints and papers stayed hidden until she was sure she could paint in peace. And when she was caught... The sharp pain of the ruler hadn't dulled over the years, the memory of it so lucid she could swear it was only yesterday.
As much as she tried to forget, she could remember every detail, every moment, every tear in the orphanage. It was a time in her life that had shaped her into who she was now, but a time she would much rather leave behind her. Far, far behind. But when she least expected it, the memories crept in again and tainted her mind, sucking the life and creativity from her, feeding on what bit of happiness she had managed to find for herself.
I'm sorry, I didn't know...
Pity. She wasn't sure which she disliked more; the pity she always found in their eyes or the fact that she had spent most of her life in an orphanage with no family and no memories. The look that always crept into their eyes, feeling sorry for her... It was like a silent mockery of the time she had spent waiting, hoping for a loving family to adopt her.
Fourteen years. It was like a lifetime, sitting, watching, praying. Torture. Every couple that came looking for a child to adopt was a sliver of hope that slipped away when they chose the youngest child, or the one that looked most like their family. Fourteen years waiting for the perfect family, only to leave the day she turned eighteen. Turned out from the only family she had known. Adult. That's what she had legally been when the nuns had shoved what few possessions she'd had in her arms and showed her the door. And now that she was on her own, she had no idea how to care for herself or what she would do now.
A few years of struggling on her own, racking up student loans and pinching pennies to live month to month, and she managed to make it through college. An art degree; it just made sense to her. Somehow she had thought she could become an artist, sell her paintings and make a living. And after a few short months of no income, she'd had no choice but to seek out alternatives. Luck was on her side when she found an assistant teaching position at the college and even more so when the professor that had mentored her had left. Now that she was teaching and had a steady income, she could live comfortably and paint in her spare time. For the first time in her life, she was content. Maybe even happy.
♥️ Credits ♥️
♥️ Story and coding by
Celestial♥️ Profile art by
Celestial♥️ Fonts from DaFont
♥️ Paint splatter brushes from Brusheezy
♥️ Background from Vexels
