Plastic Painting

He smiled as he looked at the studio in the outer hall, each of these paintings she painted here, enjoying very much observing them immersed in the colors.

Her spiritual intelligence is high, as every other plastic artist, he holds the paint brush, and does things, lines and colors, he does not know what he is doing, or what he wants, he only paints, his hand and mind are just a tool, and something else inside him moves it.

At the end, their paintings are sold at the most expensive price. She once told him, the reason for the distinction of fine art is that the painter paints with his soul, not with his hands.

And every time she grabbed her brush and started doing things on the canvas, he felt her telling the story of his life, he just always did things, he did not know why and what would result be, but he just wanted to do them.

His motto when things come down is, go with the wind, let it take you where it wants to go.

He stood before a mediocre painting, a bridge suspended in the sky, punctuated by chaotic colors, a bit of haphazard smoke, and what seemed to be flying leaves.

When she painted this painting, she stood in front of it for a whole day, she almost went crazy, the painting was complete but something was missing in it.

In the end, it was this deficiency that relieved her of finding it, a red dot in the lower-left corner of the painting! It fell right under what appeared to be a leaf.

That is crazy, it was actually completed by it!

---

From Zero Moment Novel – Click Here And Read