On This Black Canvas I Paint

The tall walls of the enclosure surrounded me, cool gray concrete. When I went on a walk this morning I did not expect to find this beauty. An abandoned piping system, rusty electric boxes and claustrophobic inducing arches. Feels like home.

I didn't like bringing the topic of home up - it was something of the past. If only Derick was here to see this, he'd be exploding with joy, scribbling down sketches in his notebook. Those good memories... they'll always be with me.

I picked up one of his old sketchbooks and flipped through it. The sketches were intricate and abstract, yet they all had one thing in common. They conveyed a feeling of being trapped or isolated.

Harsh lines scratched down the pages in compositions awkward and incomplete. Shards of lead cluttered the pages, smothering them in a dark cloud that clung to each square inch. As I turned each sketch away, the next grew more insatiable.

My dad, a famous artist, never encouraged me to pursue art. So, I joined Nightcord At 25:00 and became their artist before I switched to night school, and re-enrolled in my old art class to follow my passion. Sure the teacher wasn't the nicest, but I'd make it in this world.