Sunset [minutelovestories #24]

Posted by on Apr 18, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

His kids were young, not yet teenagers, not yet even what could be described as ‘tweens, and he would leave them in the house, engorging their slack, nubile bodies with Keebler’s striped shortbread cookies alongside a plastic bowl of Theatre Butter microwave popcorn, watching cable TV until Peter resurfaced. He locked himself inside of the studio. He painted versions of the Malibu sunset: orange, yellow, red, purple, hazy, lucid, hallucinogenic, bucolic. The interpretations were end over end. Some people considered him an obsessed lunatic, like an amateur attempting the most perfect plagiarism of Vermeer’s pearl earring or a tiresome take on Van Gogh’s most canonized swirling night, and he was surrounded by the carcasses of those failures that were born prematurely or malnourished somehow, meant to be aborted but allowed to exist despite. These paintings of his were not failures, Peter argued. Every setting sun differed from the one before. His wife did not adore this work, what bordered on obsession, an endless desire to “get it right”, something that couldn’t be captured. “I’m nothing but a studio widow!” she would declare to her friends. “A studio widow with too many radiant sunsets.”