In Miniature
A story of painting and precision
In retrospect, Lou regretted calling his art teacher an asshole. Lou was fifty years old. He should have more self-control.
Go with the flow, though. His teacher had examined the elven archer Lou was working on, and told him, “It’s good, but it feels too tight. You need to let the paint guide you more. It’s a liquid. There’s a little chaos in it. Allow that into your work.” And then with a big old shit-eating grin, “Go with the flow, you get me?”
What the hell was the guy even talking about? Lou was bringing to life a miniature one-inch tall. He was using a brush with three bristles. The guy had been lucky Lou hadn’t cold-cocked him there and then. He was lucky to have just been called an asshole.
#
At home, Lou placed the elven archer upon his diorama. It was progressing nicely. He’d been able to spread it out a bit since Diane had left, expanding it to take up much more of the basement. It still needed a lot of work, of course. Some of the trees he’d originally bought looked ratty now. He’d found better flocking for the grass. A dream was forming in the back of his mind about buying a pond liner and making a lake using resin. He’d never seen that done, but in his mind it was spectacular, a frozen ocean with galleys cresting waves, every detail perfect, everything just as he wanted it.
He examined the placement of the elf, nudged the angle, checked it again. Yes. That was it. The lone archer perched on its promontory, overlooking the orc horde below.
Well… three orcs right now, but it would be a horde. He was going to take the boar-rider to class next week.
If he went back.
Go with the flow.
What an asshole.
#
—Hey Diane. I think my Aegean Purple must have got mixed up in your boxes. Any chance you could take a look?
—Hey Lou. How about you go screw yourself?
Diane had got a lot nastier since the divorce. When they’d been married, she’d always been quiet and tidy. She’d always colored inside the lines. That’s what he’d really liked about her. She’d known where the boundaries on everything were.
–It’s pretty hard to get hold of Aegean Purple these days, and it’s really perfect for the edge lighting effect I’m trying to achieve. I’d really appreciate it if you took a look.
—I’d really have appreciated you considering a single one of my needs in the twenty years we were married, so I guess we’re both shit out of luck.
Lou threw his phone across the room. When he picked it up, he’d cracked the screen.
#
Lou’s art teacher had feedback on the edge lighting. Of course. Because it was the wrong shade of purple, thanks to Diane. Except that’s not what his teacher said. His teacher said the paint didn’t follow the lines of the boar’s body quite right, but Lou knew that wasn’t it. He knew exactly what it was. Why the hell was he even listening to this guy if he couldn’t tell what was wrong? Lou told the guy he quit right there and then.
#
Online that night, Lou saw there was going to be a convention upstate. Something for wargamers of all stripes. A whole bunch of the painters he followed on Instagram were going to be there. A couple were even judging a painting competition. Immediately, Lou knew he had to enter. He knew he finally had a way to prove that he knew exactly what he was doing. That when he was allowed to execute his plan without interference, everything was perfect.
#
After the judging, Lou’s fingernails bit crimson crescents into his palms.
He hadn’t even placed. Not even an honorable fucking mention. They’d looked at his stuff and hadn’t said a word. Not a word! Not a single compliment.
He knew he shouldn’t, knew it was advised against, but he found one of the judges in the crowd afterward—a guy in his thirties with purple hair who called himself Jeremy Warboy.
Lou made himself smile, explained to Jeremy Warboy how he’d been in the competition, how he just wanted a little feedback. Jeremy Warboy looked at the people he was with. Lou insisted it would only take a moment. Jeremy Warboy shrugged reluctantly, said sure. Lou handed over his elven archer. Jeremy Warboy examined it.
“OK,” Jeremy Warboy said. “Cool.”
“Right?” Lou encouraged him.
“This is really clean,” Jeremy Warboy said. “You’re very technically proficient, man.
And Lou glowed.
“But-“
Lou wanted to snatch his elf back. He wanted to scream there was no but. It was perfect. He knew it was perfect.
“-it feels like you went in here with a plan you were going to execute come hell of high water,” Jeremy Warboy said. “Except, like, miniatures aren’t perfect. You’ve got to work with them, you know? Adapt to them.” He shrugged. “Go with the flow a bit more.”
#
Lou stood in the center of his diorama that night. His whiskey bottle clattered against the tables. It knocked over some trees. Lou felt unsteady. Unstable. He felt like a miserable failure in the middle of his miniatures that weren’t fucking good enough. Because nothing was ever good enough. Could never be perfect.
He brought the bottle down on the table. An elven warrior bent at the ankles, lay askew. Lou laughed. Brought down the bottle again, again, again.
#
Later, among the ruins of wood, and glass, and wasted exhausted effort, Lou pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen.
–Hey Diane.
–Piss off, Lou.
–I think you’re right that I can be too controlling
–Too late, Lou. Much too late.
It wasn’t the response he’d wanted. Not what he’d pictured or planned. But after some consideration, Lou decided he was ok with that.
Thank you for reading Something’s a Little Off. If you’re interested in sampling a few other stories, and reading an excerpt of my upcoming novella, why not check out the sampler linked to here?