at this point, her apartment is less than an apartment. it’s been converted
into a studio of sorts, makeshift, with newspaper scattered all over the
floor everywhere but the kitchen and the bathroom. thankfully, there
aren’t many walls that separate her apartment, leaving it for a very
tranquil, open space environment; just the sort of atmosphere she needs
to complete the piece that had been driving her mad for days on end,
now.
it’s just that every stroke of her brush or every press of the nozzle of
her spray can into the canvas leaves her feeling entirely delirious, and
it’s not because of fumes, either. it’s because she’s at a bit of an art
block. she hasn’t made anything great in weeks. there have been medi-
ocre pieces here and there, things she’s sold on the streets for five-
or-something dollars to get her through a daily, weekly basis, even.
but none of it can get her through her rent for this month. by the time
she’s saved some of it, it runs away to other bills, other necessities. so
she’s frustrated.
desperate for a wake up call and a sudden re-entering of her natural,
peaceful artistic climate, she walks over - no, hops over some paint
buckets and palettes all over the floor - to her radio and starts to play
an old ipod of hers. it’s not too loud, but some might say it’s a little
bothersome, what with it being nearly three a.m. and all, but jo figures
she’s on good terms with everyone so they won’t really say anything.
besides, she’ll only have it on for one song.
but about five songs later, the beatles have been playing their greatest
hits and you can’t turn off hey jude. at this point, she’s got a great start
on her painting, better than she’s had in ages. johanna is unstoppable.
