Blog Archives
Paint Splatter
by Patrick Latter
He shoved the heavy door open, causing some of the old paint peels to break off the piece of wood and lock. He dropped his painted covered knapsack onto the grimy floor and passed his hands through his disheveled curly hair. He unenthusiastically went through his mail as he shifted to the kitchen in search of something for his growling stomach although he knew that his prospects were low. His clothes were methodically stained with all shades and types of paint as if he was the canvas instead of the artist. His small fridge had barely been able to keep an old sandwich from expiring and after that was removed there was nothing but the white interior of the fridge left to mock him (something that he would have to remedy later). Not even that would be allowed to remain untainted by his painter’s hand.
The stray cat sat on the uneven table and watched him search the cupboards for the non-existent food. The ball of fur was covered naturally in orange, black and white patches of fur; its flurry of colors was the only reason that the feline menace was the only reason it was allowed to stay. Finally giving up, he pulled open a large pantry door with his canvas skin hands, before him were row among rows of high quality paint. The quality of the paint was way above the pay that one would assume he had judging by the state of his home.
The cat watched with its two differently colored eyes, judging him quietly as the artist lugged the paint cans to a black room. He could feel the hairs begin to stand up on the back of his neck, and the familiar tingle race across his skin. He quickly uncapped the paint cans and placed them in a semi-circle. The artiste turned his back towards the neon paints and faced the room he had covered in black poster paper.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the smell of fresh paint, and miraculously but not strangely, the dried paint lifted off his skin and hair and fell to the ground. Now there was a faint humming, a vibration in the air, and the waves originated from the center of the paint can and rippled out. The cat let out a short yowl and arched its back briefly before cowering behind an abandon paint can. The artist exhaled slowly and then tension in the air disappeared for a short moment.
Suddenly, almost as quickly as it had disappeared it came blasting back and large globs of paint shot up from the cans and hovered in the air. The artiste flicked his hand and it came rocketing forward, attacking both the black canvas and himself almost indiscriminately.
Then, the bombardment stopped and the remaining paint fell to the floor, and briefly, and beautifully, bounced up, mixing with each other before dying down and running amuck on the uncanvassed floor.
[For the original pictures and others like it check out Patrick Latter’s blog at http://www.hikingphoto.com and click here for more splash photography]
More Than Young Ink 