I, Miss Bluestocking, was commissioned by well-to-do parents to paint a portrait of their son, Lucas Creswell. He was a young man, 20 years of age, when he first sat down for me and my brush.
I was initially intimidated by his brusqueness but quickly warmed up to him. He was surprisingly humble and unaffected despite his privileged upbringing.
When I revealed the completed portrait to the family, let’s just say the Creswells did not look too pleased. They were expecting something more along the lines of classic realism than impressionism.
There were other issues with the portrait.
Lucas Creswell asked in a solemn voice, “Why, madam, do I have a moustache?”
I expelled a tragic sigh. “My hands, good sir, shook while trying to paint your lips!“
But the Creswells were still kind to me despite their disappointment.
To this day I am still well-acquainted with Lucas Creswell. We have kept up a correspondence for many years. He is now in his late twenties and is the magistrate of Devonshire.
But when he isn’t busy wielding undisputed power, fixing wages, building and controlling roads and bridges, I often find him taking long walks with his most intimate friend, Miss Amanda Hollingworth. An uncanny young woman with inky brown hair and a crooked smile.
The Real Story:
I wanted to take a few hours’ break from writing. Didn’t know what to do. So I oil-painted my story to life.
Painting always reminds me of writing. Draft by draft, brush stroke by brush stroke, we layer the story until it’s completed.