The old man’s eyes gleamed, like the paint on the canvas was still fresh. Amber stared at the man behind the glass, tracing the gold frame of the painting. “Who is this man, Mother?” she asked, standing still in the upstairs hallway.
Harper had circled through the art gallery three times trying to find a painting that stood out to her. She needed to write a report on a piece that was close to her heart. She thought taking an art course in her first year of college would be easy, but it was proving to be much more challenging than she realized.
“Let the painting tell you what it wishes to be,” Mr. Lambert said. The students of his still-life art class sat in a circle around a bowl of fruit. They hunched over their canvases, struggling to be skilled while using second-rate paintbrushes.