Art Attack

Posted on Friday, 21 May 2021 - 7:33am by Petty Officer 1st Class Siana Ilian

Mission: Operation: Neu Reich
Location: Personal Quarters
Timeline: MD 9

Art is... subjective.

Reminding herself of that fact, Siana Ilian took a step back and studied the canvas resting on the easel.  Yet no matter how many ways she looked at it (even if she turned it upside down), there was no sense of the chaos on the page.  It reminded her of ink blots used in years gone by on Earth.  A 'look at this and what do you see' psychological test.  

Red, greens, pinks, yellows, blues, oranges... the hues blurring form one into the next.  And then, right in the middle, the imprint of her hand while in the corner a small scrawled note in black which read 'us'.

And as she stood, covered in paint from her morning's efforts, the newest host to Ilian knew it was true.  The straight, precise lines symbolised the many lifetimes which had embraced science and logic.  Valued order and strived to better not only themselves but Trill society both at home and amongst the stars.  The academics rather than the dreamers.

Yet it was the dreamers, the creative sparks within a long life, which brought out so much colour and vibrance.  A warmth in the colours which seemed so vivid against the canvas and against the muted greys and blues of her quarters.  

Every inch of the canvas was covered, eleven distinctive colours finding a harmonious balance.  On paper, if perhaps not quite true in reality, the balance had been achieved.   

"I like it," she decided, announcing it as if to an audience.  "I mean it isn't Jayandre's standards but still...."

As fourth host, Jayandra was the first of her predecessors who truly could be considered creative.  The world was her canvas, and grey made her incredibly sad.  Frequently dressed in bold and daring colours, her fashion designs were revered but her true passion was her paintings.  For days on end she would lock herself away, pausing only to sleep, eat or meditate, and produce artwork which was still displayed on the homeworld today.  Her eye for detail, her obsession with perfection was matched by an undeniable skill when she picked up a paint brush.

Of course, as with many a creative soul, she had a flair for the dramatic.  Indeed, even with Illian's calming influence she threw a few tantrums and was, according to husband number two, 'impossible to live with!'.   

"So impossible you got married again," Siana observed with a rueful smile before reminding herself she was only talking to herself.  

Again.  

Her workstation chimed and she frowned, noting the 'incoming message' notification.  Curious, she set aside her paints and crossed to the workstation, sitting down as she used her paint covered finger to hit 'accept'.  She had so much cleaning to do -

"Siana, my dear! Finally!" a familiar voice declared as the communication channel connected her to the Trill homeworld.  Her mother's face, so like her own, filled the screen.  "You have been avoiding my calls."

"I... have," Siana conceded as she sat on her hands, "I've been busy.  Working.  And adjusting.  Obviously."

The accusation which had been in her mother's eyes gave way to a sympathetic smile.  "Well of course.  But don't you think, honestly, that coming home would be easier?  You'd have support.  Your family..."

"Mother, my work is here and Ilian has had ten hosts before this, many of them doctors, I am more than capable of working through this here," Siana told her.  "We've been through this already.  We are perfectly okay."

"We," her mother sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact her daughter was not about to come running home.  "As long as you are healthy and happy.  Though I have to say, you look like a colour chart, dear."

Siana glanced down.  She really did.  "Yes," she admitted with a grin.  "I was painting."

"Painting?!" her mother cried in surprise, "well, that is new.  The only time I saw you take an interest in art was when you were drawing schematics."

"It is very... therapeutic," Siana confided.  "A recommendation from a friend.  But it is messy.  As you can see."

"And your hair... is it pink?" her mother asked as she squinted at the screen.

"Just a few highlights, it's temporary, don't worry," Siana assured her quickly, touching the end of her braid.  Of course her mother would notice a handful of pink strands of hair.  She noticed everything.  "I guess I'm figuring it out.  I mean, I'm me.  But also, a different me.  Like I said, adjusting."

Her mother smiled sadly.  "Just don't forget you," she urged gently.  "I loved you just as you were.  And I know you did this for all of the right reasons.  I miss our chats."

Siana smiled, shifting uncomfortably.  "Me too."

"I suppose when you are hundreds of years old, chatting to your mother seems unimportant."

"Never," Siana promised, "I miss them too.  I just need time.  I promise, I will call as soon as I can.  I just need you to be patient with me."

"Of course.  I will let you go and tidy up that mess you have made," her mother smiled, "perhaps use one of those holodecks next time?"

Siana smiled, "good idea.  Night Mum."

"Goodnight, Siana."  

With that the link ended, the screen going blank.  Siana sank back into her seat, feeling homesick for the first time in a long while.  Maybe a visit to Trill would be good?  

"Nope, no chance," she said as she jumped to her feet, studying the carnage she had caused as her heart sank.  How did paint even get on the ceiling?!  

"Alright, which one of us knows how to get paint out of furniture?"

OFF