S: Charlie 001 - Blog Posts

             there   was   a   mix   of   emotions   swelling   inside   sigrid   as   the   young   man   ,   charlie   ,   mentioned   signe's   name.   no   one   could   ever   be   emotionally   prepared   for   their   own   child   to   grow   up   and   find   a   person   to   create   a   life   with.   truthfully   ,   sigrid   didn't   know   if   she'd   ever   wished   for   it.   not   because   she   didn't   want   signe   to   be   happy   ,   quite   the   opposite   ,   but   because   there   was   no   way   for   sigrid   and   søren   to   be   100%   sure   that   the   person   she   chose   would   be   a   good   one.   such   was   the   pain   of   parenthood. "charlie   ,"   she   repeated   slowly   ,   tasting   the   letters   as   they   left   her   mouth.   the   cheeky   comment   about   the   mother   -   daughter   similarities   was   amusing   ,   but   sigrid   tried   to   keep   her   smile   at   bay   ,   at   least   for   now.   "she's   a   very   smart   girl.   very   attentive."   it   was   clear   as   day   ,   the   way   charlie   spoke   about   her   daughter   ,   that   this   was   not   some   fling   that   was   to   pass   in   a   few   weeks.   he   had   the   same   ,   terrifyingly   loving   ,   look   in   his   eyes   as   søren   had   had   ,   all   those   years   ago.   "you've   been   spending   a   lot   of   time   together   ?"

"Definitely the latter," Charlie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wasn’t exactly raised around art.. unless you count football posters and grafitti, which I do consider art, but I’ve got more time now. And a pretty brilliant teacher."

He stood a little straighter as she offered her hand, reaching out to shake it. "Charlie Hughes. It’s lovely to meet you, Sigrid. And.. yeah, I see the resemblance now. That’s mad." A softer smile settled on his face as he added, "Your daughter’s the teacher I was talkin’ about. She’s got a great eye for art, patient too. I’ve learned a lot from her already, and she tells me where she got it from."

"it   sounds   like   you   have   an   eye   for   art   ,"   sigrid   replied   ,   only   a   little   bit   teasing.   "or   like   someone   has   told   you   about   it."   she   was   faintly   reminded   of   her   daughter   ,   the   way   she'd   stand   with   her   hands   on   her   hips   ,   studying   the   greats   intently.   "i   suppose   i   got   carried   away   by   nostalgia   ,   letting   the   rose   coloured   glasses   of   youth   take   over."   she   didn't   know   why   she   felt   the   need   to   divulge   so   much   of   herself   to   a   stranger   ,   but   he   carried   himself   with   a   sort   of   gentleness   that   didn't   feel   imposing.   "it   was   ,"   she   stated   finally.   "it   was   safe.   i   took   my   daughter   there   once   ,   though   that   was   a   long   time   ago."   signe   had   probably   been   too   young   to   remember   ,   but   sigrid   could   still   see   her   wobbly   steps   in   front   of   her   as   they   walked   down   toward   the   water. the   young   man   was   charming   ,   she'd   give   him   that.   he   had   the   same   boyish   charms   søren   had   when   he   was   young.   it   didn't   seem   like   he   took   himself   too   seriously.   "i   would   suggest   keeping   the   good   stuff   for   when   you're   not   close   to   children   wielding   paint   brushes."   she   reached   out   her   hand   in   greeting.   "sigrid   holmström.   nice   to   meet   you."

"It really does look peaceful…" Charlie hummed, stepping in a little closer as his hands slid into his pockets. He tilted his head as he took in the painting, giving it more attention than he might’ve once thought himself capable of. "There’s something about the colors.. soft but vibrant. Kinda feels like how everything looked bigger and brighter when you were a kid, yeah?" A smile tugged at his mouth, crooked and genuine. Signe would be proud of how he’d started actually looking at art. "I can see why it was your favorite place.. seems like a safe one."

Then came the disaster that was his shirt. He looked down at the splotch of green, sighed, and let out a short laugh. "Well, there goes this one," he muttered, giving her a grin that was more amused than upset. "Shame." He chuckled, shaking his head and brushing uselessly at the stain, fully aware it was too far gone. "I’m definitely no artist, but maybe I could make it look intentional.. like it were a design choice, maybe? I used to have this designer jacket that was hand-painted.. one of those streetwear designs. It was mint. Proper mint. I loved it, wore it just about everywhere I could.. And yeah, I ruined that one too.." Charlie laughed under his breath, clearly used to being his own worst enemy. He looked up again, a small glint in his eye. “I should probably start leavin’ the good shirts at home, huh?”

             the   young   man   looked   like   he   had   lost   a   fight   with   a   paint   bucket.   and   truth   be   told   ,   sigrid   wasn't   totally   sure   he   hadn't.   still   ,   she   smiled   back   at   him   ,   too   deep   in   the   process   to   think   much   of   it.   "that's   very   kind   of   you   ,"   she   allowed   ,   trying   not   to   turn   away   from   the   compliment   but   instead   taking   it   for   what   it   was.   "i   truly   am   rusty   though.   i   spend   more   time   teaching   about   art   than   actually   making   it   myself."   the   question   gave   her   pause   and   she   smiled   softly   at   the   shapes   that   made   up   her   childhood   on   the   canvas.   "it's   what   i   remember   from   my   childhood   home   ,"   she   replied   softly.   "my   family   home   was   close   to   the   ocean   and   my   parents   would   take   me   sometimes."   she   motioned   to   the   grassy   fields,   the   ocea   seen   in   the   distance.   "this   was   one   of   my   favourite   places   growing   up." sigrid   couldn't   help   but   let   out   a   laugh   as   the   young   man   sheepishly   asked   for   advice   on   the   mess   created   on   his   shirt.   "i'm   sorry   ,   the   only   thing   i've   ever   found   works   is   gently   dabbing   on   the   stain   with   soapy   water   and   before   throwing   it   in   the   wash.   you   might   have   to   make   a   mad   dash   home."

Charlie had been wandering past the painting station with a bottle of water in one hand and paint smudged on the edge of his shirt; not from actual artistry, but from trying to help a kid open a stuck tube of acrylics, leading to what could only be described as a disaster. He'd just given up on scrubbing the shirt against itself with the water, scrunching his nose as he'd definitely made it worse, when he'd caught sight of the woman speaking and paused, something about the calm focus in her expression catching his attention.

He stepped a bit closer, eyes scanning the half-finished landscape. “That’s beautiful,” he said, flashing her a warm, easy smile. “Rusty’s just code for still got it.” He crouched slightly beside her canvas, hands resting on his knees. His hand had been placed much gentler over the left one, positioning his fingers precicely to avoid the long scar, years of practice making it second nature. A beat passed, then his eyes flicked from the brush in her hand to the painting itself. “What inspired this one? Or is that a secret artist thing I’m not allowed to ask?” There was a teasing sound to his voice, light and curious with the genuine interest of someone who had a newfound appreciation for both art and the artist’s quiet passion. "Also, can you please tell me how I can get this out of my shirt? It's my favorite and I'm not tryin' to toss this one just yet."