The Awakening of Ren Crown Read Online Free PDF Page A

“The greatest artists are masters at mixing. Masters mixing for their masters.”
    Despite his urban hotness, Mr. Verisetti loved to speak in old world terms. Masters and servants, mentors and patrons. Giving up one's soul to art.
    “You don't want me to use a tube of Hot Pink Glitter Extravaganza?” I joked, feeling better—relaxing my tight shoulder and neck muscles. Art class served as my daily Prozac now.
    “Definitely not. We will use these.” He carefully placed eight dishes of crushed pigments in front of me and a jar containing what looked and smelled like linseed oil.
    Excitement sparked. “You want me to mix paint from scratch?” Something in me strained at an invisible leash in exhilaration.
    Maybe Mr. Verisetti would let me do a quick landscape after completing my task. My eyes moved to the prints on the walls. Maybe a fantastic hillside town? Maybe a girl raising the dead? Excitement thrummed within me at the thought, and I leaned forward with my elbows on the table.
    “Yes.” The conspiratorial look in his golden eyes reinforced my thrum. He placed a flat glass surface in front of me, then added a bell-shaped glass muller and spatula on top. Two other glass surfaces were placed to the side. “Interested?”
    “Most definitely.” The oil kit I had wanted to purchase weeks ago...I hadn't been able to ask for the supplies after returning from the hospital, even though my parents would have probably purchased anything I had asked for. The emotional need had lodged somewhere between my overwhelming guilt and despair.
    But now...the fervor to create a picture of resurrection from scratch was beating inside of me—heavy drum beats accelerating to a frenetic meter.
    “Patience, patience.” Mr. Verisetti's voice was soothing, but pleased. “These particular pigments will combine in whatever way you specify. Mix your first choice onto this.” His hand passed over the square glass surface. “Trust your instincts each time a decision forks before you. How does each color make you feel? For what might a color be used? Create the visual story and stir in the essence, matching the consistency of the medium to the narrative behind. Lay the groundwork, Miss Crown, for the manifestation of a magnificent...awakening.”
    The air felt heavier, the thrumming became a steady beat that swirled the air around it like a finger poking through a curl of steam.
    Something about his words made me pause, but another layer of toffee melted, and I let the unease dissipate as I relaxed again. Mr. Verisetti was examining me closely, so I nodded quickly, and fairly leaped to the task. I made my first pigment choice quickly and felt a thrum slide down my arm and into my fingers as I poured a small dollop of linseed into a crater of pigment, then carefully folded the mixture together, spreading and lifting with my spatula. The ache of loss flowed red.
    I considered the other pigments and made a second choice. The departure of the other part of my soul spilled gray. I added a third. The loss of my very identity, so wrapped in another being, was a motley green. Sprinkle, pour, stir, consider, release. Far better than any other therapy techniques I had tried; the task discharged internal energy that had been plaguing me since Christian's death. The kind that had kept me awake night after night.
    Discharging, but bringing with it an intense canvas of white in my mind.
    My thumb dipped to the painted surface almost absently. I examined the swipe on my finger, longing running through me. I wanted to wipe my thumb across a blank page, form a circle, form anything .
    Mr. Verisetti had been a godsend to me, but for some reason had denied me the opportunity to paint, and strangely, I hadn't been able to pick up a brush at home. The desire to ask for a canvas formed, then stuttered on my tongue, hanging there between my parted lips. The urge to paint itched under my skin. Dried paint flakes buried beneath and needing water and brush to free