Work Text:
Art was one of Four’s oldest friends. From the moment she put crayon to paper for the first time she loved art, loved drawing. Their skills grew with them, different styles and techniques learnt and adjusted throughout the years. It celebrated with her in the best of times and comforted her through the worst. Through every fight they had, everything they’d been put through from petty drama to agent work art has stayed a constant Four could rely on.
So why now was it failing them?
Four was no stranger to art block of course. Not a single artist alive or dead could say they’ve never fallen victim to the beast. But this was by far the longest it’s ever kept its greedy claws on the agent. They’ve tried every remedy they and they internet could think of; music, walks, once they had even spent three hours looking at reference photos but to no avail.
Every scratch of the pencil looked wrong, every stroke of the brush out of place. Motivation to draw coursed through their veins yet nothing coherent was ever made. This torturous loop of drawing and erasing, drawing and erasing continued for weeks on end. It was driving her insane. Even the most bare bones sketches and doodles were crumpled up and tossed away.
They glared at the empty sketchbook page on the table in front of them. It was taunting her almost, just begging to be filled with characters she made up and landscapes from fantasy world. Tentatively, she picked up her pencil and began to sketch a simple pose. Soon though, it looked off despite Four having used a reference. She groaned in frustration as she picked up her overworked eraser and got rid of her work.
They slammed the sketchbook shut and chucked it onto their bed.
Seems like they’d be stuck in the clutches art block for another day.