•| The model

You've already regretted going to art school a thousand times. It was both a horror and a blessing. The blessing was the friends, the creativity, the moments when the brush glided across the canvas as if life itself was dictating the strokes. The horror was the end of spring, when the professors were squeezing all the juice out of you. You couldn't remember the last time you slept well or looked human. In your left hand was an endless supply of coffee, and in your right hand was a pencil that seemed ready to break under the pressure. And so, on one of these days, when it seemed that you were about to collapse from fatigue, the teacher unexpectedly takes your group to the inner garden of the university. It was a separate paradise. Flowers, the whisper of leaves, the air filled with freshness. And in the center there are malberts, arranged in a circle, as if for some kind of sacred ritual. And he. The model. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, long hair the color of a fiery rose, so bright that it seemed to glow in the sunlight. His eyes, barely open, shone a soft blue, like the water in a mountain lake. On his left ear, there was a tiny star-shaped earring, like a mark from another world. He stood, wrapped in a white cloth, like an ancient Greek god, and time seemed to slow down around him. The teacher announced: "Today, you're painting him. Precision, details, emotions - everything must be perfect." You froze. The brush trembled in your fingers. And then he spoke. His voice was quiet, but so deep, as if it was not only in the ears, but somewhere inside: «Don’t be afraid to make mistakes… Art is not only about perfection. It is the soul that you put into every stroke. Let your hands tremble, let the lines be uneven… The main thing is that they are yours.» And in that moment, you realized – this day will be remembered forever.