Paints

Tracey loved to sketch from life, after all, that was all that he could draw. He could not draw from his own imagination or from memory. He would only use pencils or pen to draw on sketch paper. He had never tried to paint, because he thought that he couldn't. Tracey felt intimidated by paints and brushes. He sat on his rock, sketchbook in hand as his hand moved across the paper, the dark pencil tip drawing out his Marill and her child, Azurill. Fine pencil strokes moved across the thick paper elegantly as his eyes moved up and down from what he was watching to what he was drawing. To now, he had never thought about using anything else but an eraser, a pencil, and some sketch paper. It wasn't until Misty proposed a question that made him stop to think about his art:

"Tracey, why don't you try using paints to draw?"

She had asked the question when she had given him a set of expert paintbrushes and oil paint, along with some thick, painting paper. He blinked, staring at the expensive art supplies, unsure of what to say.

"I-I'm shocked," Tracey stated, reaching out to touch the paints. "T-thank you."

Misty smiled, her hands behind her back. "Well, I thought that you should expand your horizons," she said with a smile. "Have you ever tried paints?"

"No, no I haven't," Tracey stated, picking up a paintbrush, and examined it. "I never really tried."

"Well, why don't you?"

"I—well, I'm slightly intimidated by it," Tracey stated, fingering at a elegant paintbrush. "It looks difficult to me, but I could try."

"Well, you should," Misty began, a certain twinkle in her eye. "I bet you would be good at it."

He looked up at her as he fiddled with the paintbrush between his fingers. "You think so," he stated, his other hand gripping the brush, keeping his fingers still in their place.

"Yeah," Misty said, turning to leave the laboratory, "you should try it out."

And with that, he watched as she left. He stood there for a moment, his mind in deep thought as he looked over the items she had given him. His fingers gently grazed over the thick paper, wondering if he should try it. Yes, he was going to.

A bowl of water to wash his brush, bottles of a verity of paints, some brushes, and his thick paper. He sat in his wooden chair, legs crossed as a thick piece of wood rested against his folded legs and the thick paper sat on the wood, anchored by see-through tape.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, "let's give this a go."

He dipped his paintbrush tip into the bowl of water, and moved it over to his palette of colours, picked a single colour, and started to paint on his paper. He was trying to paint his Marill, but it was more difficult than he thought it would be. His hand trembled, unsure of how to use a paintbrush properly. It felt odd in his hand, and his lines were shaky and not at all straight. Tracey growled, ripping at the paper, and tossed it at the side.

"New sheet."

And so he grabbed a new sheet, and he started again. It was not long before he crumpled that sheet and tossed it at his feet. A third sheet and his strokes were becoming more fluid. However, it was still difficult to work with. He tossed that ruined paper to the side, taking a fresh new one. Tracey sighed, and moved his hand across, making perfect strokes with his brush; Tracey had to pretend that the brush was a pencil, and it seemed to work well. Each movement became more confident as he painted. He glanced to his Marill, and started to paint his beloved Pokemon. Maybe Misty was right—he should expand his horizons a bit more. Perhaps he could use water colours next time. He had to thank her later.