For the first time in several weeks, Topher was painting. He had all the equipment for it, and so he had set up before the lake, which was fairly quiet in early morning. He sat on a stool, with his easel before him, painting the scene of the lake in the morning. He was glad for the silence, or rather, as silent as it could be.
The painting was simply blotches of color in the pattern of the lake so far, but as he placed the large paint brush into the pocket of his paint stained jeans, and pulled out a very fine brush, it was obvious that he wasn't finished.
He dipped the brush into a dark color, and began adding dark lines to his painting, blending the wet paint so that it looked natural in all of it's highlights.
The painting was simply blotches of color in the pattern of the lake so far, but as he placed the large paint brush into the pocket of his paint stained jeans, and pulled out a very fine brush, it was obvious that he wasn't finished.
He dipped the brush into a dark color, and began adding dark lines to his painting, blending the wet paint so that it looked natural in all of it's highlights.