Her SatCom vibrated on the coffee table. She looked at it through sleepy eyes and wondered where she was for a moment. Finally her sleep-haze cleared enough for her to realize she was still curled up on the sofa, it was morning, and her SatCom was vibrating to say the world was demanding her attention. She reached for the SatCom just as the caller was directed to the message centre. She sighed with gratitude at the technology that allowed her a brief respite from the invasion of the outside world for a few more minutes.
She stretched her limbs slowly, easing the kinks out and releasing the pent-up tensions. Still in her garb from the night before she decided to take a long soak in the hydro pool before she had to face the day’s work load.
As the solution warmed in the hydro pool she slipped out of her clothes and slid slowly into the warmth of the pool. Jets of air were pulsing around her, and she closed her eyes and let herself float in the pools relaxing movement. This was the life, indeed, she thought. She was fortunate she was able to have a hydro pool. It was a luxury only affordable to the wealthy, and she had a large hydro pool, one of the biggest. Her money and fame certainly made life bearable these days, with restrictions on even the most menial of necessities.
She thought about her hydro pool and the other perks of life she was able to afford, all because she was famous. At no time did she ever take for granted this fact: she would be living a much harder life were it not for her talents, and a lot of luck. Counting her blessings was a daily ritual for her, and today was no exception. She wondered whether she would even be able to survive without the benefits her money could procure. She had a vague recollection of what life without money was like, when she was a small child, but that was a very long time ago and it seemed an entirely different lifetime.
Her gratitude reverie was disrupted by the news report on the monitor.
“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special news report. In the early hours of this morning a small group of Terrans breached the city’s perimeter and broke into the City Reserves. Security officials state that the interlopers managed to abscond with only a few items before security was alerted of their presence. This is the first time in 50 years that there has been a breach of the City Reserves. The Terrans are a sparse groups of bi-peds that exist on the outer-lying area of the city. Security officials assure residents of the city that this sort of action will not be tolerated and that the perpetrators will be brought to justice. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.”
Terrans. That was a word she hadn’t heard in quite some time. Hadn’t they become extinct? Seems she had heard someone say that somewhere. She wished she had paid more attention to such things when people bothered to tell her. Most times she was oblivious to current events when people babbled on about them during social gatherings.
She climbed out of the hydro pool and wrapped a large fluffy towel around herself and padded towards the kitchen for some breakfast. The news break was pushed from her mind as she began making notes on the days’ activities: working in the studio for most of the morning, then lunch with friends. A photo shoot in the afternoon and an interview with that art magazine, a quick trip to the framers to discuss picture frames for the next series of paintings, a quick dinner back at the studio, and then paint again until bed. She was determined to avoid the socializing some of her contemporaries fall into when they reach this level of artistic success. As much as she loved her life, socializing was not an aspect she particularly enjoyed, especially when she was in creative mode as she was right now.
Donning her jeans and tee-shirt, barefooted, she went into the studio and raised the blinds over the large windows, letting the morning sunlight flood into the room. She looked around at the paint-splattered floor, tables with pots of paint and brushes stacked in their holders. Her studio was a haven away from the hustle and bustle of life, and although it was orderly, there was often a feeling of organized chaos about it as she worked, a sort of controlled frenzy of paint, canvas and brushes, all being wielded by this driven whirlwind of creativity. Often during these times of creativity, she would lose track of time, of the world outside, of life itself. She would forget to eat, sometimes painting into the night until exhaustion overtook her. There were times when she would simply lay down on the floor, drained of energy, and sleep until the morning light would wake her and allow the process to begin again.
Just as she was preparing to begin working her SatCom started vibrating. She looked at the screen. It was a friend, no doubt wanting to do lunch, or shopping, or one of a myriad of things that would take her away from her work. She wanted to ignore this incessant interruption into her morning’s plans. Why did they have to contact her now? Annoyed, she picked up the SatCom .
“Yes? Yes… it was a lovely party. Yes… I did have a good time. Well, actually, I am working this morning. No… no…. I really can’t get away today… so much to do, you know. Yes… well, that sounds interesting, but really, I need to work… yes, I am meeting her for lunch today. Yes, well, maybe another time. I really don’t even have time for lunch but it’s her birthday today, you know. Perhaps we can do it another time, when I’m not busy with work? Ok… yes… yes, that will be fine. You take care, too. Bye.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully she dodged another wasted morning of shopping and frivolity. Honestly, why did they always want to shop? It wasn’t as if she needed to shop, with a closet full of garments she had never worn yet. It was a waste of her creative moments and she begrudged the time she had to take making excuses to avoid these social activities.
Some social obligations she had to endure, like the birthday luncheon today, the gallery party last night, the business lunches with buyers and gallery owners, the charity engagements, and the invitations with those higher-ups in society that one could not bow out of for fear of some social faux pas that would have an adverse effect on the sale of her work. She was savvy enough to know that sometimes one had to put aside ones natural aversion to things for the greater good of business.
Today was not one of those times. Today was a day to indulge in the sheer joy of giving over to creative juices that begged to be set free. She cued some favourite music on the sound system in the studio and turned it up loud. Then she opened cans of paint, moved her brushes to her work area, got out a fresh canvas and prepared to work. She picked up her paintbrush, and looked at the blank canvas on the easel. As she loaded her brush with paint the mental images in her head were already churning themselves in preparation for their journey from her mind, down through the paint brush, into the paint and onto the canvas. The creative process was one that could not be stopped.
As she lost herself in her work, outside, another process was churning into reality, a process that also could not be stopped.
© 2008 Tallulah