The Artist's Trade

Author: ShaViva

Rating: K

Content Warning: None.

Season: 5

Summary: Lorne takes a day off to do something he's always loved ... something that allows him to look at the city of Atlantis with renewed apreciation.

Classifications: General

Pairings: None

Spoilers: Minor ones for Sunday, First Strike, Adrift and Lifeline

Acknowledgements: I researched painting using artistsincanada dot com; how-to-draw-and-paint dot com / acrylic-painting; and thetoolsartistsuse dot com

Disclaimer: The Stargate characters, storylines, etc aren't mine. I am unfortunately not associated in any way with the creators, owners, or producers of Stargate or any of its media franchises – if I was Major Lorne would have been in a LOT more episodes. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, equipment, etc are the property of whoever owns them. Any original characters and plot and anything else I made up are the property of me, the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Copyright (c) 2009 ShaViva

oOo

The Artist's Trade

Major Evan Lorne took the required minutes to set up his space the way he liked it, enjoying the process of creating an atmosphere and mood in which to paint. Dressed in blue jeans and an old blue shirt speckled with the colourful evidence of other days spent in front of the easel Evan looked the part. With his hair mussed untidily instead of combed into military perfection and his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation, anyone chancing upon him would know at once how comfortable he felt in the role of 'artist'.

His large wooden easel was placed in front of the balcony railing, a small table beside it holding his artist's box with numerous tubes of Golden Fluid – his chosen brand of acrylic paint – arranged in a rainbow of colours inside. The table also held a shallow rectangular tray filled with water along with a large jar of water for rinsing brushes and thinning his paints. Special, nylon filament brushes – each with a dark wooden handle and an aluminium ferrule – were laid out according to size, some resting in the water tray and the rest in a special flat rack he'd made himself many years before.

The remaining tools of his trade – brush towels, palette knives, an adjustable view finder, and gel retarder – were set out for easy access beside the rest of his supplies.

Acrylic paint was versatile ... giving a style and finish similar to what he'd get with oils ... but it dried a hell of a lot faster. So fast in fact that he'd ruined brushes and a palette knife when he'd first switched to acrylics because the paint was so hard to get off once dry. Acrylics were closely related to PVC glue and it really did make an effective, if colourful and expensive, adhesive. It took care and attention to look after both his paints and his equipment. Evan needed to keep his brushes in the water tray so they'd stay moist ... that along with his special palette would keep the paint itself from drying out and ensure him a hassle free painting experience.

The first task was to prepare the palette for use ... rather than a flat piece of wood his was actually a plastic well about the size of a standard sheet of paper. Inside was a thick sheet of white absorbent paper that Evan thoroughly moistened. On top of this he replaced the translucent waterproof paper membrane that made the whole thing work. More moments of preparation followed as Lorne carefully squeezed small quantities of colour onto his palette, selecting those that would best provide the hues needed for his planned project.

It was a beautiful day in the city of the Ancients ... nothing unusual except that Evan had the day off and the time to paint. On the easel sat his blank canvas – stretched rough grade cotton duck woven fabric folded over wooden stretcher bars and held in place with staples at the back. When he added paint with brush or palette knife the canvas would bounce slightly ... something that always made him feel linked to the masters of the past ... making it his preferred surface. Evan had prepared the canvas himself with three coats of gesso, each applied at right angles to the last, creating a smooth white finish.

Some might consider the blank canvas daunting ... an empty space that needed to be filled. Not Evan. He saw it as possibilities ... a story to be told ... a way to share something about himself and how he saw the world. Some might see that story in the finished work ... others wouldn't. It wasn't for him to force the interpretation ... his art would be whatever it would be ... and it troubled him not that some would misunderstand.

Taking a moment, Evan gazed out across the ocean, putting himself into the scene as he decided specifically what he'd paint that day. Plein-Air painting had always been his thing ... not that he'd ever describe it like that since it was just a fancy French way of saying he liked to paint outside. The natural translation of course was that he usually painted landscapes rather than portraits or anything more abstract.

It wasn't about accurately capturing a scene and recording it ... creating an acrylic version of a photograph. If he wanted to do that he'd use a digital camera – take a hundred shots and discard all but the best of them. Landscape painting was both more and less than that all at the same time. Evan had learned very early that visualisation was flawed, that the act of creating a scene with paint almost ensured that its ties back to the original site would be imperfect. The Philosopher Hume had said it best ... perception was anchored by reality but visualisation – the mental image held inside – was brief and subjectively fragile. What he remembered of the scene and what he saw in a completed work could never match. Setting out with that objective in mind would only ever lead to disappointment in the result.

No, Evan wanted to capture the feeling behind the scene ... a memory of the day, his mood at the time of painting, what the scene itself invoked inside. That was easy on Atlantis ... the city was beautiful ... futuristic but at the same time old in a way he hoped his pictures would convey. Some days he was just happy to be there living the ultimate in military postings. Others he felt troubled - they were only there because the original inhabitants, the Gate builders, no longer existed as a race. They'd abandoned the city and left behind a dangerous and brilliant legacy.

And then there were the days where Evan was missing Earth ... on those days his painting was both a gift and a curse. The act of creating something on canvas held memories of lazy weekends with his sister, standing side by side in front of inspiring scenery as his Mom taught them how to paint, passing on her love of art and nature at the same time. That he could see a scene, translate it into something that would last because of her, was a gift. But the fact that he was doing it a galaxy away from his family – that he couldn't just pick up the phone and say hello because he missed them - made it bittersweet. Sometimes his paintings would reflect the joy of sharing something he'd loved with his mother but other times they turned out forlorn and sad ... empty as Atlantis had been for so many years.

Evan hadn't painted the city since they'd been forced to relocate to a new planet. He'd done some landscapes on the mainland and some of the ocean surrounding Atlantis sure, but none of the city itself.

Today was the first day he'd felt the city itself inspire him since that fateful Sunday when Carson had been killed.

Evan had looked at the painting he'd been working on for days afterwards searching for some kind of meaning but instead all he'd seen was a friend's disappointment at not finding companionship that day. Not that Evan felt guilty he hadn't dropped his brushes and gone with Carson ... and not that Carson had even seemed that disappointed. Truth be told the good doctor had seemed more intrigued and admiring of a skill he didn't share than anything else. No, the disappointment came from within ... that Evan had been standing on a balcony painting when a friend had been killed ... that he'd been unable to do anything to stop it from happening.

Other losses had followed too closely ... they'd lost their leader and he another friend ... and a part of him couldn't help but hold the Ancients responsible for that. They'd seeded the galaxy with life and in so doing had ultimately paved the way for the Wraith to evolve. And they'd created the Replicators to correct that mistake, making things worse instead of better. The city hadn't inspired him then ... it had only made him angry and the last thing Evan wanted was a painting that recorded those negative emotions.

Nothing specific had changed but ... inside Lorne felt it was time ... that he could paint the city again and not create something that only reflected what had been lost.

Today he would create a painting that showed the city for what it represented.

Curiosity. Progress. Adventure.

The enduring spirit of humanity.

Smiling, he picked up his palette and selected a brush. Narrowing his eyes, Lorne looked at the central tower. There. Something about the way the sun reflected off the windows called to him. Dipping his brush, Evan got to work.

The End.