Edward kneeled, concentrating on the painting before him. His paint brush lay securely in his mouth as he pushed his hair out of his face with the palm of his hand. He took the corner of the sponge and dabbed lightly around the edges of the figure, making it blend further into the background. There were footsteps approaching and he knew that someone was now standing behind him but didn't stop what he was doing.
“How are things coming along Edward?”
He set the sponge down and removed the paint brush from between his lips. “I think I’m about done.”
He stood up and looked at Carol, the therapist. She was a short woman with a full head of gray hair. She was an interesting character that always wore a smock and a pair of reading glasses around her neck on a beaded chain. She had told them that she had been a painter before deciding to go back to school to become a therapist, later in life. When she found that there were actual art therapy programs she knew it was her perfect fit and it became her calling. She had used herself as an example of how sometimes something unexpected can change your life forever.
She was considering the painting before her, taking it all in. She had asked the group last week to paint their addiction. Many had done a lot of rudimentary type displays. All of them were good and representative of the individual’s concepts of their addiction but Edward didn't complete his. He had asked if he could still work on it. Knowing that he had a proclivity for art she agreed and gave him a pass on the newest assignment so he could finish this one. She did not regret that decision one single bit. The painting was magnificent.
“Carol,” Edward said nervously.
“Tell me about it,” she finally choked out, already moved by the images in the painting.
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