Artists and Pride

“You need to make a more gentle stroke there. It’s your face, don’t you know what your own face looks like?” Aira’s grandmother nagged as Aira sat beside her working on the huge painting that was supposed to be her own wedding gift.

Aira sighed and redid her stroke looking at her grandmother.

“No, grandma. I don’t stare at my face in the mirror all day long, so I can’t just paint it out of my memory,” She said.

“You painted your husband’s face well enough though. I bet you stare at him long enough to paint him out of your memory,” Her grandmother retorted.

Aira sighed and put the brush down,

“Alright, that’s it. Your time allowed in your workshop is up. You should be heading back to bed,” She told her grandmother who sighed not having the strength to protest against her.

It showed how much her grandmother still hadn’t recovered from her stroke. She was still weak and would get tired after spending less than twenty minutes out of bed. Most of her time is spent either napping or trying