Chapter 227:
Painting the Pain
Max’s Point of View
Max washed up his brush and stepped back from the canvas, surveying his work. There was silence in the studio except for the soft rustling from the breeze through the open window. The painting that he just completed was raw pain and longing-hauntingly beautiful-a portrait of Megan in a way that he had managed to capture. He’d poured his feelings into every stroke as he’d tried to depict the battle he felt raging beneath her exterior.
“Max, this is great,” a voice broke through his concentration. Elena, one of the studio’s artists, swayed over to him. She regarded the canvas with eyes riveted on the face. “You surely have a way of capturing emotion.”
“Thanks, Elena,” Max replied with a subdued voice. “I have been working on this for a while now. I wanted to get it just right.”
“You’re still thinking about Megan?” Elena asked softly, turning her eyes to his.
“Yeah,” Max nodded. “She’s been in my head more often than not lately.”
Elena watched him for a moment longer before she spoke. “I can understand why. There’s something in her that’s enormously appealing but also tormented. Your painting reflects that.”
Max nodded. “I think she has been through a lot. Sometimes, her feelings are hard to understand, although I do try to portray them through my art.”
The studio door opened, and Megan stepped inside. She looked wary. Max’s heart did another somersault. He hadn’t expected her to visit him this soon, though her presence was a sweet balm compared to the chaos that raged inside him.
“Megan,” Max forced out his words in fairly even tones. “I hadn’t expected to see you today.”
“I needed to get away from everything,” Megan said softly, her gaze settling on the painting. “I saw this from the doorway. It’s… it’s me, isn’t it?”
Max nodded. “It is. I wanted to capture what I saw in you-your strength, but also your pain.”
Megan’s eyes remained fixed on the canvas; her expression unreadable. “It is intense. It’s grasped something that I was not able to put into words.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Max said. “I’ve been trying to understand what you’re going through. Sometimes, art makes sense of things for me.”
Elena excused herself, leaving Megan and Max all alone in the studio. It was then that, with unspoken words hanging in the air, Megan walked closer and her fingers brushed the edge of the frame.
“It’s weird,” Megan said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t usually let people see this side of me. I’ve been running hard, fighting battles, keeping up appearances. This painting… it feels like you have seen something I have been hiding.”
Max took a deep breath to find just the right words to help her calm down. “Sometimes, when we’re in the midst of struggles, it’s hard to get our vision straight. But I feel that you are so much stronger than what you think you are. And this painting-it’s just a reflection of that.”
She turned around to face him. Her eyes stretched out, hitting his face. “Why do you care so much about what’s happening inside of me?”
“It’s not just about you,” Max said, with a perfectly steady tone. “It’s about understanding the human experience. We all have our battles, our pain. Art’s a way to connect with those emotions and find some kind of solace in them.”
Megan cocked her head a beat before speaking again. “You know so much about this; what about you? What’s your story?”
Max shifted his weight to the floor without looking up. “I have had my share of struggles too, for I know what art has done for me in such times. It helps express things sometimes impossible to capture with words and makes sense out of so much pain for me.”
She turned to him now, with a new kind of empathy. “You know, it’s ironic. The last thing I expected was to end up in someplace like this and have a conversation like this, but I’m really glad I did.”
Max barely smiled. “Sometimes, it is the unscheduled moments that are most meaningful.”
Megan’s expression softened. “I’ve been thinking about the past, choices I made, people I hurt…. It’s very hard to square with all that.”
“Reconciliation is a process,” Max said softly. “It takes time and self-compassion. You don’t have to be able to have all the answers right now.
Slowly, Megan nodded back to the painting. “It’s just tough to move on while the past keeps pulling me back.”
Max came over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our own pasts, but they don’t define us. What does is how we move forward newspaper.”
Megan’s eyes rose to his, shining with thanks. “Thanks, Max. I needed that.”
They hung there a moment, the heavy conversation hovering in the air. Megan’s phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking the stillness.
“Sorry,” she said, tugging it from her pocket. “I have to take this.”.
She answered the call, and he stood there watching her as his mind raced. It was her strength and fragility combined that had first attracted him to Megan; the more he knew about her, the more he connected with her.
When Megan ended the call, she turned back into the room, her tired, smiled face etched with tiredness. “I really should go. But I wanted to say… thank you. For the painting and for listening.
Max nodded, his expression serious. “Anytime, Megan. I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
Megan’s smile extended further as she replied, “I’ll remember that.”
As Megan stepped out of the studio, Max returned to his easel. His mind dashed from one idea to the next. That had been a deeper conversation than expected with Megan, and how it was going to go remained to be seen.
He turned last of all back to the picture; an overwhelming sense of satisfaction lay on him. To him, art had always been the resort and solace; now, it seemed to bridge things he did not expect-perhaps, just maybe, something new and meaningful.