[Devon wasted no time at all in putting herself to work.
The first week was sending emails to her family, even setting up a video call for Ian so she can carry her tablet and give her brother a virtual tour of the estate (Ian sadly said he wished he could either be there or that she would come back soon. She tried not to choke up.) Unpacking properly came next. She had help from some employees to make her new art studio spic and span, and supplying it with new wooden long table, an easel, and proper disposal bins. Her own supplies came in several cardboard boxes, courtesy of her parents.
And after what seemed like forever, Devon eagerly got to painting, losing herself in the process, dipping, wiping, stroking, blending, scratching new ideas down in her sketchbook, applying them on the canvas. Before she knew it, she had finished three, no five paintings within two weeks.
Well, she couldn't help it. It turns out, being the fiance of a very busy and wealthy businessman could be absolutely and mindbogglingly boring. Boredom is heinous to Devon and doing nothing about it more so. Her dad always said that whenever she isn't sleeping, her bursts of energy were really quite something.
She couldn't just let her paintings sit in the studio either. That's not what art was for, art was for seeing and digesting. So Devon enlisted some more help to hang the canvases where she saw fit and aesthetically pleasing. She would even take input from the workers who found that she was even willing to take their critiques if something just didn't look good. That was fun.
There was all kinds of paintings. Abstracts, a lot of flowers, some very precise still life pieces, figure paintings, landscapes. There was a pile of feathers depicted once. That one was only on the wall for one day.
James never really said anything bad about what she was doing so Devon kept at it. She hadn't really... Talked to him all that much ever since she started living in the estate. Even less considering he was away on business all the time. Ah, well. She's been making do.
Ack, her portrait of Simon isn't going well though. He's walked off and that's when Devon hears James's voice. She furrows her brow and then leans out the doorway to look and see where his voice came from. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and she has a stained apron which has pockets, filled with brushes, stained with color. She sheepishly returns the call.]
no subject
The first week was sending emails to her family, even setting up a video call for Ian so she can carry her tablet and give her brother a virtual tour of the estate (Ian sadly said he wished he could either be there or that she would come back soon. She tried not to choke up.) Unpacking properly came next. She had help from some employees to make her new art studio spic and span, and supplying it with new wooden long table, an easel, and proper disposal bins. Her own supplies came in several cardboard boxes, courtesy of her parents.
And after what seemed like forever, Devon eagerly got to painting, losing herself in the process, dipping, wiping, stroking, blending, scratching new ideas down in her sketchbook, applying them on the canvas. Before she knew it, she had finished three, no five paintings within two weeks.
Well, she couldn't help it. It turns out, being the fiance of a very busy and wealthy businessman could be absolutely and mindbogglingly boring. Boredom is heinous to Devon and doing nothing about it more so. Her dad always said that whenever she isn't sleeping, her bursts of energy were really quite something.
She couldn't just let her paintings sit in the studio either. That's not what art was for, art was for seeing and digesting. So Devon enlisted some more help to hang the canvases where she saw fit and aesthetically pleasing. She would even take input from the workers who found that she was even willing to take their critiques if something just didn't look good. That was fun.
There was all kinds of paintings. Abstracts, a lot of flowers, some very precise still life pieces, figure paintings, landscapes. There was a pile of feathers depicted once. That one was only on the wall for one day.
James never really said anything bad about what she was doing so Devon kept at it. She hadn't really... Talked to him all that much ever since she started living in the estate. Even less considering he was away on business all the time. Ah, well. She's been making do.
Ack, her portrait of Simon isn't going well though. He's walked off and that's when Devon hears James's voice. She furrows her brow and then leans out the doorway to look and see where his voice came from. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and she has a stained apron which has pockets, filled with brushes, stained with color. She sheepishly returns the call.]
Yes? I'm in here...! As usual!
[Sad really.]