Maya flips through slowly, devoting an equal amount of time and attention to each page. Her fingers are on the edges, careful not to touch the artwork, to avoid smudging delicate lines in pencil and charcoal. There are pages of trees and vines, a tea kettle, the Milliways lake spread out in front of the mountains; there are forests and countryside and farms that she doesn't recognize. Pages of hands and disembodied eyes staring out at the viewer.
Where Piotr's talent truly lies, Maya thinks, is in capturing faces. A man frowning with a glint of surly humor in his eyes (Logan, Maya recognizes, and her smile is swift and sudden); a white-haired woman staring regally out of the page (the white eyes catch Maya's attention; this must be Storm, she thinks, and she lingers over it). There is a page of half-colored blonde girls, each abandoned before completion, and in the largest drawing, Maya sees a smile that she thinks looks like Piotr's at its brightest.
There are groups of men and women in spandex, and in ordinary clothes; her eye is drawn to the grinning woman with a small dragon wrapped around her neck, and she smiles again, softer this time. On another page, Laura, caught mid-kick, her hair fanned out behind her.
There are dozens of them, some thumbnail sketches, some looking fleshed out, like they could step off the page if they so chose.
"How long have you been drawing in this book?" she asks, finally. ('My God' goes unspoken but heavily implied.) She turns the next page.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-07-28 06:50 pm (UTC)Where Piotr's talent truly lies, Maya thinks, is in capturing faces. A man frowning with a glint of surly humor in his eyes (Logan, Maya recognizes, and her smile is swift and sudden); a white-haired woman staring regally out of the page (the white eyes catch Maya's attention; this must be Storm, she thinks, and she lingers over it). There is a page of half-colored blonde girls, each abandoned before completion, and in the largest drawing, Maya sees a smile that she thinks looks like Piotr's at its brightest.
There are groups of men and women in spandex, and in ordinary clothes; her eye is drawn to the grinning woman with a small dragon wrapped around her neck, and she smiles again, softer this time. On another page, Laura, caught mid-kick, her hair fanned out behind her.
There are dozens of them, some thumbnail sketches, some looking fleshed out, like they could step off the page if they so chose.
"How long have you been drawing in this book?" she asks, finally. ('My God' goes unspoken but heavily implied.) She turns the next page.