Celeste
I arrive early at my new shop the next morning, bringing my art materials, setting them alongside provided cleaning materials on the backroom table. This shop is smaller than my other one, lacking a basement for storage, and much more barren. There are no pictures on the walls, no plants by the windows, nothing to make the shop feel like anything other than an empty space. I am not permitted to make any changes to the aesthetics of the location but I am, of course, permitted to upkeep it to maintain my workplace. I hide the cleaning supplies in the cabinet tucked into the corner of the room since the place is already pungent with the smell of cleaners, organizing the supplies I have brought onto the table—I have my watercolors, my brushes, my papers. The only thing I have left to
