Dissatisfaction and Motivation

'What are you drawing?'

Janet narrowed her eyes at the low, thoughtful voice coupled with the familiar presence behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know that he was looming over the back of her chair, trying to see what she was doing.

'Stop looking over my shoulder,' she said, a touch more irritably than she intended.

He drew back a little. 'Something that's not going well?'

'It's going quite well, but it would be going better if you stopped distracting me.'

Before Armin could respond, a sudden shriek of laughter emanated from the other room that quickly tailed off into a series of alarmed yelps. Underneath it all, barely audible, was a boy's frustrated voice.

Armin sighed. 'I'll go and stop them from burning the house down.' He swept out of the bedroom, leaving Janet to resume her drawing in blissful solitude.

It doesn't have to be perfect, she told herself. Perfection was a hopeless goal to reach for. All she needed was to be able to create something that looked right and made her happy. It didn't have to be flawless, but a little voice in the back of her mind – buried somewhere among dusty shelves and less-than-pleasant memories – kept telling her that it did.

She gave a quiet sigh of her own, lifting the thick charcoal pencil from the paper and squeezing it so hard it almost snapped. The cat's face gazed back at her serenely, sharp-edged lines and white paper forming a vivid contrast. The flickering light from Janet's desk lamp created the illusion that the lines were moving. It was almost like the cat was alive.

'Oh, it's a cat,' came the surprised voice of the one man who really shouldn't have been able to sneak up on her.

Janet stopped clenching the pencil, consciously relaxing her grip before setting it down on the desk. 'Yes,' she said.

'It looks amazing.'

'It doesn't look the way I want it to, though. In my head. When I was imagining it... it looked... different, somehow. I can't seem to capture that image.'

'For someone who's only been drawing for two weeks, it looks more than fine to me. I think you captured it perfectly.'

Armin wasn't an artist; there was no way he could understand the frustration of being unable to bring forth the picture in her mind. But was she an artist either? She was a person who got bored of things quickly, rarely keeping up one hobby for more than a few weeks. Could a person with such a lack of dedication really be considered an artist?

Her thoughts were turning into a confused puddle of slop. But somewhere deep down, she appreciated the compliment; if only she could get herself to believe its sincerity.

'...It's done,' she said, depositing the picture into the drawer where she kept all of her sketches. At least the ones she hadn't already thrown away to clear space. She might have drawn a hundred pictures in the last two weeks, but found herself increasingly dissatisfied with the older ones. Perhaps that was a sign of improvement? 'So, what were Fred and Julie up to?'

'I never quite got to the bottom of it,' said Armin, shrugging. 'Something about Julie trying to slide down the banister, and Fred trying to stop her... you know, the usual.'

Janet wasn't fazed. For a six-year-old, Juliet was surprisingly bold. She stood up – grimacing at the ache in her muscles caused by hours of hunching over the desk – and turned to Armin. 'Shouldn't they be in bed?'

'They are now.'

She reached up to wrap her arms around him, finding solace and comfort in the physical contact. It had been a rough few weeks; first Juliet had broken her arm trying to climb a tree, then Fred had thrown a tantrum because another child had wanted to play with him, and then...

Armin curled an arm around her and rested his head on top of hers. It was one of the things that made Janet appreciate their height difference, despite how absurd it looked.

'You're thinking too much,' he said, voice low with amusement. 'I can tell you're not actually happy with that drawing.'

'Am I ever?' she said. 'I just can't make anything look right.'

'I don't think it matters that much. You're not planning to make a living as an artist, are you? It's just something you do for fun. Relax. Enjoy it while you can, because in a few days, you'll probably have moved on to something else.'

Janet smiled faintly, unable to find the willpower to hotly deny this statement like she normally would. It was true; already she was feeling the lure of another hobby. Perhaps gardening, or loom knitting...

Gods, does it ever switch off? I need to think about something else for once.

Darkness was creeping into their room. Suddenly it didn't seem like the desk lamp was bright enough to illuminate everything. Armin's face was half thrown into shadow.

He grinned when she looked at him, seeming to catch her intentions a moment before she did. Without a sound, she pushed him against the side of the bed. Wood and springs creaked as he leaned back, putting weight on things not designed to support it. Janet had to stand on her toes to be able to reach his mouth, but that didn't dissuade her. She kissed him intently, and he responded without hesitation, bending down slightly to take the strain off her.

Drawing back from the kiss, she reached up and – with the casual ease of someone who had done this a hundred times – started to undo the buttons on his shirt. He just stood there, content to let her do what she wanted.

'Impatient...' he murmured.

'Lazy bastard,' she countered. Halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, she paused to shove him roughly onto the bed, pinning him down and ignoring the way he smirked at her effort. She never would've been able to do it if he hadn't let her, but she relished the illusion of total control. It had been too long.

Wanting to wipe that smirk off his face, she nipped at his neck a bit harder than she probably should have - hard enough to leave a mark. He sucked in a sharp breath, stilling for a moment before his lazy passiveness abruptly broke. Clearly, pain wasn't a mood killer for him. He pulled her closer, hands slipping beneath her sweater to roam her body as if he'd never felt it before, every movement laced with a quiet tension. The glow of the dying lamp flickered unpredictably across them both. Janet fumbled for his belt, hands almost too shaky to unbuckle it.

Afterwards, she lay beside him, her head nestled on his shoulder and her fingers absently stroking his hair.

'Feeling better now?' he said, amused.

'A little,' she said. Upon reflection, the drawing hadn't been that bad. It might not have succeeded in capturing her mental image, but that didn't mean it was bad. It was just good in a different way. And the whirlwind of thoughts telling her to stop drawing and take up a new hobby had slowed, too. She knew she wouldn't be able to keep doing art for much longer, but planned to enjoy it while she still could.

She turned her gaze up at Armin, who had his eyes closed and looked on the brink of falling asleep. She suspected it was less because of the physical effort of their activities and more because she was still playing with his hair – which, for some reason, always had a soporific effect on him.

'Thanks for telling me it looked good,' she said, realising she'd never thanked him for the compliment earlier.

'Well... it did...' he replied, voice slow and dragging. 'Not sure why you couldn't see it yourself.'

'I think it's an artist thing. At least, that's what I've heard from other artists I've spoken to. We're never satisfied with our work, even when other people think it's amazing. I guess it's just something we all have to get used to – we have to tell ourselves that not everything we draw needs to be perfect. Otherwise, how would we ever be happy?'

Armin yawned. 'I'm sure this is all very interesting, but you know it's going over my head, right?' he said. 'I'm not an artist.'

Janet huffed out a soft laugh. 'I wasn't asking you to understand. I just needed to say it out loud.'

'Did it help?'

'Yes... yes, I think so.'

She ran her fingers affectionately through the soft curls at the base of his neck, tugging out a few knots along the way. The room was dark, everything was comfortable, and a thousand new ideas for drawings were rushing through her head.

Amazing what a little self-reflection – and a few words from a loved one – could do for motivation.