Artist Struggle

Oliver was in a pickle. He sat in his attic, going through the unfinished pieces of art he had stored in his sketchbooks. And he only had a week and a half until the competition to decide what three pieces he would submit. His mind was running blank, unable to focus on any ideas.

“Oliver, time for work,” called out Sierra.

“In a minute,” he called back. He continued flipping through the pages for a few more minutes, but nothing was standing out.

“You better have a clean uniform, or so help me, I will put you in the girl’s one again!”

Sierra popped through the floor of the attic, ready for work. Seeing Oliver was flipping through his sketchbook, she crept forward to see what was going on.

“Oh, that one looks nice,” she commented on a picture. She pointed at a sketch of a girl staring out of a train window with an absent look on her face before Oliver could flip the page.

“Aw, that’s a cute one of Miles and his bird.”

Oliver flipped past a sketch he had done months ago of Miles sitting with his bird on his head. Sierra tried pointing out other images, but Oliver flipped through his book so fast that she couldn’t keep up.

“This one is nice,” said Shasta, who had snuck up to the attic, dressed in his work uniform, sans apron. He picked up one of the discarded canvases.

“Ooh, let me see!”

Sierra crawled over to see a painting of Anita talking to a customer as she poured him a cup of coffee. Sierra smirked at Shasta, who turned his face while tucking the picture to the side.

“Let’s find one of you.” 

It didn’t take long before they found one of Shasta flipping fried rice in his wok. The grains danced in the air as he concentrated on his task, the fire licking the base of the wok. Sierra looked over to Shasta, who seemed to be studying the piece, not the least embarrassed. 

“Anita! Come look at Oliver’s art,” Sierra called out. She pulled the painting away from Shasta and tried to push it down the hatch to show the newcomers. Shasta moved the canvas away from the opening as the other employees entered the breakroom.

“No, please stop, I’m trying to pick out my pieces for the art show,” whined Oliver.

Oliver took the canvas and put it back in a pile, then moved the collection away from Shasta’s reach. 

“We can help if you’re having trouble,” offered Sierra, who had taken back the canvases to sort through. Before he could stop her, Shasta took another sketchbook and began going through it.

“Is there a particular theme they want?”

“Nothing in particular, but your art pieces should stick to the same theme and same medium.”

The other two nodded, shuffling through the art, stopping to show Oliver a piece, only for Oliver to reject it.

“Hello?” yelled Miles from the breakroom.

“Up here,” called out Sierra. Miles and Anita appeared in the entrance to the attic, dressed for work.

“We’re trying to help Oliver find art pieces for the show,” explained Sierra.

Anita and Miles both joined the fray, each taking a sketchbook to examine.

“Hey, this is Ness,” commented Miles, drawing the attention of Sierra.

“You name pictures of birds?”

“No, that’s my bird. I have a pet bird named Ness at home. Well, there’s Paula and Ness, but this is Ness. Oliver must have drawn him when he stayed at my house.”

“Oh, does he have Paula?” 

Miles flipped a couple of pages, finding the female green cheek.

“Here, she is.”

Sierra flipped between the pages. “They both look the same.”

“Which is why you would be a terrible mother,” commented Shasta. Although he couldn’t discern much of a difference in either of the sketches Oliver had drawn.

“Paula has a darker head than Ness,” answered Miles.

“Here’s one of Sierra playing the cello,” offered Anita, prompting Sierra to lean over to look.

“Ooh, I look so professional.”

Their search continued for a while, as they showed off Oliver’s artwork to each other. It made him feel a little warm inside to have his art appreciated by his closest friends. He did notice that Shasta kept a firm hand on the painting of Anita. Anita found pictures of both Norman and Shasta and was having a hard time putting either of them down. And Miles lingered a little too long on a sketch page of Ramona’s laughing expression.

“Where in the world is everyone!” Cyrus roared from down below, silencing his employees.

“We should get back to work,” whispered Anita; the others nodded in agreement. Starting with Sierra, they made their way back down to the restaurant. Oliver reluctantly left his art behind, his final pieces still unknown. He sighed as he walked to the front; everyone had already scattered to start work.

“You’ll figure it out,” offered Miles, who stood behind the bar to start the coffee machine.

“I have less than two weeks to figure it out; and I’m working every day until the show.”

“I always liked your murals at the restaurant,” said Miles, taking some sauces out to place on the tables.

“Why don’t you pick some of your favorite murals and put those on canvases,” suggested Shasta.

“My favorite murals?” Oliver thought on it for a bit and then dashed back to his attic before anyone could stop him. He pulled out the buried sketchbook with his mural sketches. He flipped through the pages and dog-tagged his favorites.

“Oliver, we need to start work now,” said Sierra as she came up to the attic to grab him back down.

“Figured out your pieces?”

“Almost. Trying to pick between these five.”

He held up the sketchbook for her to look at; Sierra examined each one.

“This one. This one. And… this one.”

She handed him back the book with only three dog-tagged pages. Oliver flipped through them, satisfied with the choices.

“Now put them on canvas,” he said, only for Sierra to pull him away and retreat back down to the ground level.

“Later. You have work right now.”

Oliver pouted, but inside he was happy. He had his pieces and he was going to make them better than before.