paper thin hymn [open]

[CELIA GRIMALDI]

Painting outside was something Celia didn’t often do. It wasn’t usually the weather that put her off, but the unaccounted for variables of everything that could disrupt her and go wrong. The wind could blow the water all over the place, it could start to rain, the wind could blow all of her paper up in the air and she’d have to run around looking like a complete moron trying to catch it all. The list went on for quite some time, but today Celia was paying no mind to her worries. It was a wonderful day with just enough sunlight for some lovely shadows, but still with enough clouds that the world didn’t seem too bright. In her opinion it was a perfect day for painting outside, so that was exactly what she intended to do.

Even more strange was that for once, Celia wasn’t upset about anything. Carrying her watercolor tools in her arms, she was for once quite calm. She generally only painted when she was angry and needed to do something that she knew would calm her down. It was certainly less intrusive than the sound of her playing particularly violent tunes on her violin, which she was sure was a relief for her cousin. Of course she couldn’t be sure just how bothered Valerio was by her playing of furious symphonies at random moments for a variety of upsets, but Celia couldn’t imagine it would be constantly welcomed. She did try to restrain herself, it wasn’t her fault that some people were so stupid or so full of themselves that she just had to take them down a few notches with a few cutting remarks.

Celia’s main task at the moment was finding a place that was actually worth her time and effort of painting. She’d grown so used to painting still-lives that anything that was a corner of her room or a view from her window seemed just a bit daunting. She was confident in her skill, though, and eventually settled for sitting on the grass near the front entrance of the school. Her main focus would be the building around her and the rest of the landscape. She could care less about the people passing by; she didn’t care for painting actual living things. It took too much time and she was far too obsessed with perfection to do so. Setting the things down beside her, Celia bypassed sketching things out first and went straight to balancing her pad of watercolor paper in her lap whilst mixing up her paints in a small palette. Sketching was for amateurs, and she was no amateur.