At last I am making my very first post on my blog! It is of an illustration that I created in Adobe Illustrator. I took the illustration into Photoshop and applied a brush stroke effect to give the illustrated lines a softer touch. It's based on a short story I wrote entitled
The Waiting Woman. I wanted the illustration to represent the subject of this story.
The Waiting Woman
A
soft music played in the background; it sounded a long ways away. Her finely
manicured finger touched the brim of the wine glass as she traced its smooth
edge. The chandeliers hanging from the ceilings gave a shimmering illumination
to the expensive décor of the restaurant. The woman lifted her eyes from the
glass full of dark liquid, to her surroundings.
The
candles sat glowing on top of each table set with a fresh clean white cloth.
The light shone in the eyes of each person sitting, each sitting with a
purpose, a reason they were there. An older couple in the corner sat quietly
talking, the wife’s eyes gleamed of adoration and content. The older gentleman siting
across from her was likely to be the husband of many years. His eyes gently
stared back at her; full of a respect and endearment, yet his air was refined
and resilient.
A
dark haired man sat at a table against the other wall. A sliver of smoke arose
from a thick cigar he held lowered in his right hand above a crystal ashtray.
His black mustache turned down setting his face firmly in a sour expression.
Perhaps it was because the seat across from his was vacant.
Then
suddenly she heard laughter erupt from a young blonde woman at a table in the
center of the restaurants floor. Her head was slightly tilted back as she
laughed and there was such charm in the way her lips smoothly curled upwards
into a dazzlingly smile as her laughter died. She was exquisite and rare. Her
blue eyes reflected a handsome man sitting to her right with jet-black hair and
dark eyes staring at the girl with relish and eagerness. An elderly woman sat
to his left dressed richly in purple velvet and lace, was likely to be the
woman’s mother. The way the young girl
held her self, with such poise and yet…a teasing, playful twinkle gleaming from
her eyes. She reached over setting her hand to rest on the sleeve of the man, a
gentle movement, yet implying something more. Innocence and age sat as one at that
little table in the center of the floor.
The
woman turned her eyes back to the glass in front of her, lifting it gracefully
to her mouth, peering down into the dark liquid. Twisting her wrist gently the
red fluid swirled inside; creating ripples against it’s confined space. She
held the glass to her mouth, the liquor disappearing behind the tainted lips of
the same dark rouge. Setting the now empty glass down she peered at the gold
watch on her thin wrist. Hours had
passed.
The
chair across from her sat waiting for its occupant, taunting it’s desolation as
each minute ticked by. Time took away, seized both misery and joy, but gave at its
ripest moments, healing, wisdom; an era of space…yet tonight was different.
Waiting was an entirely different form of time.
The
woman resignedly placed her hand against her cheek, resting her elbow against
the table for anchor. She peered around the vast room to see new faces occupying
the tables. The evening had melted into night, the hour late. Tables were clearing
and the atmosphere discreetly whispering the evening was over, ready for its
sleep and for a new day to break it’s slumber.
A
waiter walked over to the little table by the fire to see that the woman who
had been sitting there all evening had at last left. He pondered for a brief moment
why she had been there alone dressed so exquisitely, and why for so long? As he
picked up the wine glass stained with red lipstick he saw a white napkin laid
out neatly across from where she had been sitting. He turned his head so he
could read what she’d written. In
elegant black ink sprawled gently across the folds of white cloth he read: “I have
waited too long for you, there are only so many hours in a lifetime. Goodbye
darling.”
His
brow furrowed in contemplation at what he had just read, it conveyed a mystery
almost like a riddle yet a deep sorrow hung on each word. The waiter suddenly
became aware of someone looking in his direction; he turned his eyes towards
the restaurant’s entrance. A man with a black hat and overcoat stood looking
through the glass doors. The man’s face was halfway hidden beneath the shadows
of his hat but his expression solemn.
The
waiter gave a confused look at why the man made no movement to come inside but
then he saw a woman come from behind grabbing his arm and smiling. She pulled
him back, her mouth moving to form words the waiter imagined to be saying
“Hurry, let’s go.” and before the man turned the waiter could clearly see a
reluctance in his eyes; the man looked at the napkin the waiter held.
Their
eyes locked and the waiter knew he was the cause; the reason for what this
woman had been waiting for all evening; anticipating, hoping, and eventually
despairing.
The
waiter glanced at the napkin and then back at the glass doors but the man had
left and in his place was a reflection; a waiter holding the napkin, an empty
table with two chairs by the fire, waiting for another night, another
person…another story.
