There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

If Cole is wrong, then so am I.
When he pushes me to change, the change feels good.
It’s like his corrections to my paintings—once he points out the
improvement, I can see its merit just as clearly.
He’s been encouraging me to promote myself more openly on social media. I
was always hesitant to post anything too personal, too specific. Still plagued
by that old fear of exposing myself as weird, broken, disgusting.
“You think the painting is the product, but it isn’t,” Cole tells me. “You’re the
product: Mara Eldritch, the artist. If you’re interesting, then the work is
interesting. They have to be curious about you. They have to want to hear
what you have to say.”
“I’m the product?” I tease him. “You know who you sound like …”
“There’s a difference between creating a fake version of yourself for market,”
Cole says, sternly, “and simply understanding how to show people who you
really are.”
Cole encourages me to dig out my old Pentacon and take photographs of my
paintings in progress, before they’re perfected, before they’ve even fully
taken shape. I photograph myself at work, in moments of frustration, even
breaking down in front of the canvas, laying on the floor.
I photograph myself in front of the gloomy plate-glass windows, thick with
fog, tracing my finger through the steam.
I photograph myself eating lunch, food scattered amongst the paints, hands
filthy on my sandwich.
When I need a break from painting, I pose naked and streaked in paint.
Wearing a sunburst crown of paintbrushes, swaddled in a canvas drop-sheet
like the Madonna.
The pictures are moody and grainy. Sometimes melancholy, sometimes
charged with ethereal beauty.
I don’t worry about my privacy or if I might look unhinged. I post the
pictures and I tell the truth about my mental state, for better or for worse, as I