"Hopefully my work entertains and evokes a response, my dream is to get something published and see it in a bookshop so I can sign a few copies for my own amusement."
He sits down in the corner of the main communal work room, facing the door. He sits, his back to the wall. The room is simply chaos, noise, swearing, smell of clay, paint and turps alongside the heady sickly sweet warmth of student life, a live -in area.
It’s busy with messy final projects. There’s naff all space so the girl with mousy auburn hair, drops into the seat, and exchanges murmurred greetings.
During the day, mumbled comments pass across the couple as they work. Both reaching for the same rubber, their hands touch, they blush in tandem and smile at each other.
The small talk moves to more and more personal topics; from music, to artistic influence, to food and family.
As the sky blackens with passing time, the workspace empties as people retire. The scent shifts from stale sweat and people, to cooling night air and drying paint.
He mumbles and blushes, she does the same. They rise together; throwing work into bags. Shyly they walk close and slowly move, until hand in hand.