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MidReal Story
Picasso found a blank canvas
Anonymous
Apr 20
Scenario:Picasso found a blank canvas
Create my version of this story
I was in the middle of a period of intense artistic struggle.
And my apartment was beginning to show it.
It was a dingy place, and my landlord did very little to keep it clean.
But now, it was also filled with countless unfinished canvases and discarded sketches.
They were everywhere—piled against the walls, stacked up in corners, even scattered across the floor.
Each one had started as a vision in my mind, but none of them matched it.
None of them came close.
I had been trying to paint something bold, something new, something that would revolutionize the art world… but all I’d managed to produce was a mess.
It was an apt metaphor for my life at the moment.
A mess, in every sense of the word.
Of course, I couldn’t exactly blame the apartment on that… but it certainly didn’t help.
It was an uninviting place at the best of times, and it wasn’t made any better by its current state of disarray.
The only thing that made it tolerable was that Fernande was here with me.
She’d been living with me for a while now… not that we were anything official, of course.
But she’d taken pity on me when she saw how I was living and had decided to take care of me.
She cooked, she cleaned, she even did my laundry.
And she spent hours trying to cheer me up… though she hadn’t had much success with that so far.
There were few people in the world who believed in me as strongly as Fernande did… and sometimes I wondered if she believed in me more than I believed in myself.
I thought about that now, as I sat on the edge of the old couch that took up half of our living room, staring at the latest failed experiment I’d come up with.
I knew I could do better than this… so why couldn’t I?
I looked up at Fernande, who was sitting across from me in one of the armchairs I’d scavenged from the street.
She smiled sympathetically at me when she caught my eye.
“Don’t worry about it, Pablo,” she said.
“You’ll have better luck next time.
You just need to be patient.”
“I’m trying,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I was.
I spent most of my days wandering the streets of Montmartre, trying to find inspiration.
I would walk and walk and walk… but no matter how far I went, I never seemed to get anywhere.
The whole neighborhood was suffocating me, and I wanted to escape… but I didn’t know where to go.
I didn’t know how to leave my old life behind and start a new one.
I didn’t know how to become the man I wanted to be.
I didn’t know how to make my mark on the world the way I’d always dreamed I would.
It was paralyzing, that fear of the future… and so I stayed right where I was instead.
Right where I’d been for weeks now, producing the same uninspired garbage over and over again.
As the day turned into evening, the light in our apartment started to fade.
