round table, about nix. summer
Feb. 18th, 2008 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupAbout Nix.
Summer:
He has paint flakes in what has to be a thousand different colors up to his rolled cuffs at his elbows. He has not even started this mural as yet, the speckles instead a holdover from a week long, late night project of painting his dorm. He chews at the side of his thumb, gnawing at the skin despite the chalky taste of dried acrylic paints he finds there. He does not mind it much anymore anyway, as his room is a bigger project than he imagined and the taste of paint is seeping into his dreams, not just his skin.
He stares at the blank concrete canvas in front of him, an opportunity he never dreamed of having, sure this is still Dill’s doing. It is no stretch to say the man has meddled in his life since he left California. It was Dill who had applied him for KSA, not Nix himself. This job was more than a freshman could ever hope for, let alone have thrust into his lap. 3 murals, over the course of a summer, depicting 3 scenes of Boston: Paul Revere’s ride to the North Church, the Boston Tea Party, and the Cheers bar, where everyone knows your name.
Nix sits down on the concrete sidewalk, knees pulled up in front of him as he visualizes his space. There is a crack that spreads even through the neutral white of the primer, jagged and reaching across half the wall. He wonders, slightly, if he will have to cover it somehow, or if he can incorporate it into this one—the ride of Paul Revere. He wonders what the weather was like, whether there was lightning and thunder, or if the night was clear and moonlit. He wonders, and can see it tracing out in his mind’s eye. The silhouette of horse and rider, near to flying across a vast landscape peppered with emptying cottages and villagers gathering their weapons. Nix can see it, the distant glory of the Old North Church as it was in the time, not surrounded by businesses as it is today.
He can see it, with lightning striking across the sky where the crack in cement lies, half illuminating the red breasts of oppression, soldiers marching towards the church, a long way off but ever nearer. He can see it, see the belfry and two swinging lanterns, the midnight ride forever immortalized. He can see it, freedom and revolution and history spinning out in concrete and paints before him.
He blinks, and takes a deep breath. Yes… that is just what he will do. Nix stands up, dusting off his rear from the gravel that has attached itself to his jeans. He pulls out a charcoal pencil with a half a smile, and begins to trace out his plan, starting with a flash of lightening. It is an amazing opportunity, this job. It is nothing like what he had expected. What a summer he has ahead of him.
Summer:
He has paint flakes in what has to be a thousand different colors up to his rolled cuffs at his elbows. He has not even started this mural as yet, the speckles instead a holdover from a week long, late night project of painting his dorm. He chews at the side of his thumb, gnawing at the skin despite the chalky taste of dried acrylic paints he finds there. He does not mind it much anymore anyway, as his room is a bigger project than he imagined and the taste of paint is seeping into his dreams, not just his skin.
He stares at the blank concrete canvas in front of him, an opportunity he never dreamed of having, sure this is still Dill’s doing. It is no stretch to say the man has meddled in his life since he left California. It was Dill who had applied him for KSA, not Nix himself. This job was more than a freshman could ever hope for, let alone have thrust into his lap. 3 murals, over the course of a summer, depicting 3 scenes of Boston: Paul Revere’s ride to the North Church, the Boston Tea Party, and the Cheers bar, where everyone knows your name.
Nix sits down on the concrete sidewalk, knees pulled up in front of him as he visualizes his space. There is a crack that spreads even through the neutral white of the primer, jagged and reaching across half the wall. He wonders, slightly, if he will have to cover it somehow, or if he can incorporate it into this one—the ride of Paul Revere. He wonders what the weather was like, whether there was lightning and thunder, or if the night was clear and moonlit. He wonders, and can see it tracing out in his mind’s eye. The silhouette of horse and rider, near to flying across a vast landscape peppered with emptying cottages and villagers gathering their weapons. Nix can see it, the distant glory of the Old North Church as it was in the time, not surrounded by businesses as it is today.
He can see it, with lightning striking across the sky where the crack in cement lies, half illuminating the red breasts of oppression, soldiers marching towards the church, a long way off but ever nearer. He can see it, see the belfry and two swinging lanterns, the midnight ride forever immortalized. He can see it, freedom and revolution and history spinning out in concrete and paints before him.
He blinks, and takes a deep breath. Yes… that is just what he will do. Nix stands up, dusting off his rear from the gravel that has attached itself to his jeans. He pulls out a charcoal pencil with a half a smile, and begins to trace out his plan, starting with a flash of lightening. It is an amazing opportunity, this job. It is nothing like what he had expected. What a summer he has ahead of him.
