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Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
The warblers and finches sang praises to the rising sun on Brendon’s drive to his studio. Branched shadows shivered in a welcome breeze that promised to linger through the heat of midday. Brendon did a quick circle around downtown, checking the parking for any sign of a BMW or a crisp suit.
Seeing no sign of Orion, Brendon parked, sprinted up two flights of stairs to his studio and did a runaround, gathering up supplies. His collapsible easel, a couple of small canvases, some flat, some fat and a couple stretches of calfskin. A tub of paint tubes that had once been blue and now looked like an LGBT flag all out of sorts. A handful of mid-quality brushes and one normal number two pencil.
And he was done.
Back down the steps with his arms laden, out the thick metal door and popping his trunk to store his gear. He’d have to stop by the local gas station, nab a couple of waters, then drive around deciding on which park might hide his car best so he could spend the day in peace and q—
“Good morning, Brendon.”
He sagged against the open trunk door. “Not today, Orion. I’m busy.”
“I’ll come with you then.” Continue reading