Evelyn arrived at Westfield Gallery the next morning, her nerves slightly steadier than the day before.
Sophia had been direct but not unkind, and despite the intensity of their first session, Evelyn had walked away exhilarated.
Today, she was determined to prove she belonged here.
Pushing open the glass doors, she found Sophia already at work. The older woman stood in front of a large canvas, her brush moving in quick, precise strokes.
Thomas was nowhere to be seen, leaving just the two of them in the expansive gallery space.
"You're early,"
Sophia noted without turning around.
"I wanted to get started right away,"
Evelyn replied, setting down her bag.
Sophia dipped her brush into a deep blue hue and flicked a glance at her.
"Good. Passion matters. Now, let's test your instincts."
She gestured toward a blank canvas propped against an easel.
"Paint."
Evelyn hesitated.
"What should I paint?"
Sophia wiped her hands on a stained rag and folded her arms.
"Whatever comes to mind. No overthinking."
Evelyn exhaled, stepping forward. She picked up a brush, its wooden handle smooth against her fingertips, and dipped it into a warm ochre.
At first, she hesitated, staring at the blankness before her. Then, with a deep breath, she let the brush glide across the canvas, allowing the colors to flow without restriction.
The minutes melted away. She barely noticed Sophia watching her, analyzing every movement, every choice of color and stroke.
When she finally stepped back, she saw a mixture of abstract shapes forming a sunset bleeding into a restless ocean. It was raw, imperfect, but undeniably hers.
Sophia approached, studying the piece with a careful eye. Then she simply said,
"Again."
Evelyn blinked.
"Again?"
"Yes,"
Sophia said, resetting a fresh canvas.
"You have skill, but skill alone doesn't make an artist. Do it again—but this time, without hesitating."
Evelyn clenched her jaw, determined. She picked up the brush and dove in.
Hours passed in intense focus. By the time Sophia finally allowed her a break, Evelyn had painted three different versions of the same scene.
Each one was subtly different, shifting in tone and depth. She was exhausted but strangely invigorated.
Sophia nodded approvingly.
"You'll learn."
Evelyn wiped her hands on a rag, exhausted but satisfied.
"I hope so."
Sophia smirked.
"We'll make sure of it."
As Evelyn packed up, her phone buzzed.
Mia: "Dinner tonight? You need to tell me everything!"
Evelyn: "Definitely. I have so much to say."
She slung her bag over her shoulder, taking one last look at her paintings.
Progress. She was getting there, one brushstroke at a time.