I stared onto the empty canvas. What should I paint today? I could do abstract, maybe a still life, or how about a landscape? But maybe I should sketch, color maybe, probably make a sculpture, but then again I feel like painting. There are so many choices I can do, so many things I want to do. 

Oh, how I love art.

The wonders it effects people. Most people see it as furniture, making their house, their room prettier. But then there are people like us, artists who's sole will is to make art. Art is all around us, you might not notice it because you don't realize it. There's art in music, architecture, furniture, photos, technology, us! Yes, we ourselves are a work of art, but it sounds stupid to you. Sometimes it's stupid to me, but mostly to my parents.

I've always love art, ever since I was a little kid. My idols were artists, dead and alive. I would rather draw and read about my idols, than play with the other kids. Usually that ends me being picked on, but when it comes to school work, it's the teachers who pick on them. Who's laughing now? 

My parents supported me on my love of art. They enrolled me to art classes, bought me many art supplies. But when I went to high school, that's when they become serious. They didn't think being an artist is good pay, to them it's only a hobby. They wanted me to become a lawyer, better yet a doctor! But who will want to do that for the rest of their lives, behind a desk or cutting someone open? I want to express my feeling through my art, I chose this long before I got my first paintbrush.

But my parents didn't like my decision, as soon as I finished high school, they kicked me out, their only son. Yeah I know, great parents. They've given me many chances, they still do. Once every three months they send me a letter on that there's still a chance for me to take college classes for becoming a doctor or lawyer. But all of them are stored into my drawer, never had been open and never will.

Now I live on top of the art store on which I own, Archer's Art and Art Supplies. It took me many months for saving up for this place with the little allowance my parents send me, but I've finally gotten it. I have many close friends of rich people, and they pass on the information of my art. So I have many regular customers, either for a present or for themselves, this is where they go. I love this place, it is my life and home.

Then an idea pops into my head. "A self portrait, I haven't done one for a while."

I grabbed a nearby wall mirror and set it beside the canvas. I think I'll make a full body portrait, not just my face. I first grabbed a pencil and sketch myself with quick, fast strokes. As soon as I'm satisfied with the quick sketch, I begin to paint. As soon as I get the right colors and shades for the paint, I placed it on the canvas. I did my best to really capture myself, no abstract this time, there won't be a challenge there.

I found the perfect colors for my dark brown hair like dark chocolate and bright blue eyes like the sea. I got the right tone for my tanned skin, from the many times I stay in the sun, painting a landscape and trying to find it at it's best peak with the right position of the sun. I'm very tall, but well fit and I have to admit I got a 6 pack. You must be wondering what an artist is doing with a 6 pack, but when a burglar tried to steal from my store, I knew it was up to me to protect it. I finally finished the painting with the last few colors of my clothes and I'm done.

I looked at my work, but something seemed a bit... off. Maybe the red it too bright, or I didn't get the shading correctly? I shook my head, it must be my imagination or something. Then I heard the chime of bells from my store. The first customer of the day. I raced out of my apartment and down the stairs that connects it to my store. 

I arrive just in time to greet my customer.

"Wayne!" Mr. Carter said. "I was scared for a moment you weren't here."

"Mr. Carter, so glad you've drop by." I gave him a firm shake, with a smile plastered on my face. "So what gives me the honor for another visit of a regular customer?"

"For what else? My painting, for the wife?"

My eyes widened in realization. "Oh right, right. Now where did I put it..."

I went at the back of the store where I put all of the paintings waiting for pick up. I found it and came back, handing it to Mr. Carter.

"Amazing," he mused. "It looks exactly like Niagara falls. You know, we went there for our honeymoon, but we never got the chance to go back. It's one of her favorite places. How did you capture it like this? It's so realistic."

"Oh, because I went there."

He nodded, knowingly. "I know, artists always seem to be in their paintings. Like another world and they are trying to paint it. But really, how did you paint this?"

"Because I went there," I repeated again.

He looked at me. "Wait, you seriously went to Niagara falls, which is at the border of Ontario and New York. That Niagara falls?"

"Yeah. As soon as you called me to paint it, I packed my bags and headed to Niagara falls."

"But it was just a painting. I can't imagine the cost just for painting it."

"Well, I guess I couldn't paint the real Niagara falls with only picture in the Internet. And really, it's fine, anything I can do for a regular customer, Ms. Carter."

He patted my shoulder. "You really are one of a kind, Wayne. No one would ever think to complain about you paintings."

"You're being to kind. I'll never lose my flair for art as long as I live." I said. "Now, let me gift wrap it for you."

I finished wrapping the painting in blue gift wrapping paper with a red bow and handed it to Mr. Carter. He took out his wallet and placed the money on the counter. I looked at it with my jaw dropped.

"That's more than what we agreed, Mr. Carter. I can't take this."

"But you must. You went all the way to Canada-"

"-And New York," I corrected.

"-And New York just to paint the Niagara falls. This must at least also cover the traveling expenses of the trip. Please, just take it."

Before I could refuse, he was heading for the door. "My mother's birthday is coming soon, so get ready to paint a mural."

I grinned, seeing this as another challenge form him. "Oh, I'm ready to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel."

As he left I headed to my studio, to paint some more. But then it happened again, my painting seemed... off. I moved on to sculpting, and the carving was all wrong, not the way I wanted it to be. I headed to the park, but all the paintings were a disaster, I couldn't even turn it into a decent abstract. I went back to to my studio to do a simple still life of an apple. The color, the shape, the shading, it looks like a bloody pear! I can't even draw a simple apple.

What's happening to me?

Everything I do is all wrong. The colors don't go well together, the figure is out of balance, the shading looks like the sun is all over the place. It's like... It's like I lost my skill of art. I lost my art, I don't know how, I don't know why. I stared at the canvas that was swirled with all of the colors, a fail of an abstract. I just lost it.

I heard a chime of bells and I headed back to the store. Instead of a customer I saw Mr. Miller, the landlord of the building.

"Uh, Mr. Miller," I said, a bit surprised. "What are you doing here? I've already paid this month's rent, I mailed it to your office."

"It's not about that Mr. Archer. It's about the lease agreement."

The lease agreement is a contract of rights over a property for a short period of time. But what is he here for about the lease?

"And what about it?" I asked him.

"Two years ago, you came up to me with enough money for the place. We put it under contract, and now time's up."

"Wait, what do you mean by time's up?" I demanded.

"There is a lovely couple hoping to buy this place for their own little store. And they are offering more money than all your monthly rent for the last two years."

"But this place is my life! You can't just kick me out!"

"I'm sorry, but it's part of the contract. Unless you can come up with at least 22,000 dollars, pack up everything and be out by the end of the month."

"The end of the month, 22,000 bucks?" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?" 

But all he did was tip his hat. "Have a good day." Then he left my store.

I ran my fingers through my hair. This can't be happening, what was wrong with me? Why did I agree to get out of this place after two years, why did I agree to something so stupid? And how will I come up with 22,000 bucks? The last thing I want to do is be in debt, especially with my regular customers. But I also can't make 22,000 bucks, not with my art suddenly gone, I refuse to sell bad art to my customers.

I sighed and place my hand on the counter. "What am I going to do?" I muttered to myself. 

I looked up and saw a painting. The painting of the magnificent Eiffel tower of Paris, France. That's when it hit me, "The City of Lights," the center of learning and the arts. That's the perfect place for me to get my art back. I'll get inspired, maybe learn some new techniques, get the 22,000 bucks in no time and I get my place again.

I put my hand on the painting. Observing each brush stroke I made of the painting.

"The City of Lights," I said, very excited. "Paris, France."