The Painting

A brief intro folks, So I haven`t really been blogging. Hope to do it regularly. Here`s a short piece of fiction I wrote recently.

Mark was waiting in the gallery with bated breath. He had heard a lot about the art on display, the artist is a known exponent of Russian art, acclaimed all over the world for his attention to detail, capturing thousands of emotions with a few brush strokes. Mark had always been fascinated by his work. Now he was waiting at the entrance of a very known territory,  something he had read and researched about but the thrill of looking at the artist's work in person was    indescribably intense.
Mark tried to rearrange his thoughts,  gather his emotions in a piece and walked down the gallery. Now he was standing in front of the painting. The painting was truly a masterpiece. Hues of lilac,  purple and violet with few strokes of burgundy laced in between. For anyone who wasn't well versed in the artists style of art, it would like a meaningless riot of colors splashed across the canvas. But he knew the purple was meant to evoke an imagery of conflict,  the conflict of self. looking at the strokes he delved deeper into his ideas of life. The lilac strokes evoke  romantic imagery and the globs of  burgundy woven into random circular patterns are  igniting  the questioning thoughts. 
Now Mark was truly satisfied. He had the sublime experience of immersing himself into the artwork. The painting reminded him of his adolescence. His choices of life , the impending confusion tipping him further and forcing him to choose. His adolescent life,  where he was forced to leave his love behind and pursue a career choice. A choice where he waw Forced to forget his past and move further despite not wanting to. Being  thrown into the forgotten memories of the past,  he felt  enthralled by the beauty of the painting,  he decided not to take it home. He decided the fascination of having a one time experience would be joyous enough. He started his walk back.