She had sat here, on this small blue chair so many times. Yet, this time felt different. She was a grown woman now, with towering stilettos and a towering career to match. Yet…
When she sat on the blue chair, she remembered. She remembered what it was like to have grandiose dreams of being a Hollywood starlet or a famous singer, going from show to show, leaving a trail of hearts in her wake. Or maybe she was a artist living in Paris, drifting from painting to lover and back to painting again. She had forgotten what it was like to dream. And no career would ever whisper dreams to her, no matter how big the promotion.
She gripped the blue chair tight as her heart and head fought the battle. Her soul watched smugly from the sidelines, already knowing the war was won.
“A West Hollywood flickering sunset light lit up the motel room as she sat nervously waiting. She paced up and down, peeking through faded nets at the window but there was no sign.
She opened the door into fading twilight and walked outside, pitching against the gritting harling of the motel building. She lit up a cigarette, hands shaking uncontrollably. She watched the bright red neon sign flash on and off as she smoked. It was always like this. He always sent her into a Hollywood head spin and this time was no different. She sniggered to herself…if he could see her right now, she would have a grey cloud of smoke and pixelated thoughts all smudged into one. Right above her head. She took another long drag and pressed herself harder into the motel building.”
This is one of a series of Digital Paintings from a new series that I am working on called “Hollywood Pixelations” about dystopic, pixelated lives in Hollywood.
The blackest of woven silk was her uniform for tonight’s performance. She admired her glance in the ornate mirror in the ink room. She hastily tried to pat down spiky pixie hair but it was standing up on end. Never mind, with her translucent red mask in place, she was fully armed for the outside. And fully disguised.
She knew that her sad eyes reflected far too much, but the crimson red saturated the desolation and gave them a rouge mystery that was hard to read. And that was all she needed in order to mix in the crowd unnoticed.
She still looked more pixie than female; something not quite of this world. She tried hard to disguise the light tips of her ears but even the red mask was no match for them. Donning a black ink feather cape and pearls, she stepped out into the foray, breathing heavily.
The red mask was strangely translucent and hurt her eyes so she stopped to rip a square in it, to allow her eyes to see. Other mask wearers stared at her insolence with disgust. She was well aware that blatant insubordination was a sure sign that she was an imposter but she had to risk it. It was important that she could see properly.
She did not realise that here, in this place, this action would reveal far too much of her pixie soul. An action that she would forever regret.