“So this is where the magic happens.” I said as I held the door to the studio open. Handsy walked in and stood in the middle of the room.
“There’s nothing here, well, except this.” He laid his hand on the easel and stared at me.
“Ah, well, there is actually.” I walked over to the wooden screen and folded it back, and the other third of the room came into view. My paints and equipment were well organized against half of the wall, while my unfinished canvases were kept in one area and a tarp covered the finished ones.
“I thought artist studios were messy, filled with junk and paint spills everywhere.” Handsy picked up an abandoned work and examined it. “This is beautiful.”
“I can’t work in chaos, makes my head spin and I get nothing done, so I keep it tidy.” I murmured, then laid my head
