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fellowshippers2004-06-29 02:04 am
the-duckie.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-06-29 02:04 am
The Colours of Dominic Monaghan
Title: The Colours of Dominic Monaghan
Author: _sblomie
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan all alone.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: For the LOTRPS Challenge #10. I used the colours white, blue, red, green, and black for my five chosen colours.
Disclaimer: This is fake, I do not have proof that this actually happened. Viggo Mortensen did encourage Dom to take up painting. This was written for the LOTRPS Challenge #10, a colour study.
Feedback: Oh, please. I crave it beyond your wildest dreams. And this fic was a major mental undertaking -- I spent more time thinking about this one than I had a lot -- and I would love to know how it's recieved.
Never be ashamed of your artwork lest you be ashamed of who you are.
-Unknown
Dominic had taken up painting under the influence of Viggo Mortensen who inspired him and urged him to make use of all forms in which he could express himself. Dom already acted, he already written more than most people wont in his diaries of all shapes and sizes, and he had a level of experience with music. But yet, to pick up the paintbrush and create something had always been more gratifying than the rest. To paint was to see the creation come to life before his eyes, to see the colours blend and merge, to see the forms take shape and the vision deeply seeded within his mind and in his heart travel through his body and through the brush as it was, essentially, a pure and nigh natural extension of his body. What he painted was what was inside, for the artist could only create something as beautiful as his heart. Though, beauty would always be in the eye of the beholder, there were days when Dominic could find no beauty in his creations. However, he could find beauty in the simplistic nature of his paints that were splayed about his feet on the paint tarp on the floor of his garage. Each colour -- from the untouched beauty and elegance of the virginal canvas to the coloured tubes and the paint they contained -- held a memory and a tidal wave of emotions waiting for the perfect moment to crash down upon him, drowning him in a flood of his own mind and heart swirling together.
Today was one such day.
White
Dominic often sat with crossed legs before the blank canvas propped up against his floor. At first glance, one could call the medium grade and self stretched canvas white, but to assume such a pure innocence was given to that which was to be flawed and hidden was almost laughable to Dominic today. Many an hour had been spent staring at the cloth, running his fingers over it before he really came to realize that the canvas was not white indeed, but rather a tainted white with the hints of cream and beige to the textured fabric. And in that moment of realization, Dom had been disheartened and saddened. All things should start out white.
White was pure, white was innocent, and white was a fresh palette in which anything could be created. When a child was born, the room was always white and when a person died, the light at the end of the tunnel was always white. White was pure. White bordered upon virginal and heavenly for all things good and right within the world were represented by white. Angels always had white wings and glowed with a heavenly light, and they were pure and innocent in the fact that they -- on large -- had never sinned. The good guys wore white clothes and the bad guys wore black, things were simple and easy in that manner.
However, just as the canvas seemed white at first glance, the canvas never had a chance to be white. To be pure, to be untouched and without flaws. By nature, everything he would create would be subtly flawed and only to him for he knew how it began and that, in itself, would never change. Yet, that was only appropriate for Dominic himself had never been without flaws. He was not born perfect, and he was not raised perfect, and he was a far cry from perfect. Innocence had been lost, he knew there was no Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy was his father. And virginal was a word lost upon him for some time, the nature of innocence that such a lack of experience brought had long since disappeared from his life. It was only fitting that Dominic longed for white, longed for the untouched, natural perfection that came with the pure colour for it was how he had lived.
For the canvas, and for Dominic, that perfection could be created. Paint it white, and things would be pure, things would be innocent but scratch it once, just right, and the tarnished beginning to it all would show through once more. White was a hope and a dream, but white would never be found in his garage. Not the pure, innocent white that he longed for. And so, rather than dwell upon the white he would never find, Dominic covered the canvas with a myriad of emotions and memories, forsaking all he longed for even more.
Blue
And so, to calm him from the upset over the loss of the white that never existed before him blue was washed over the blemished canvas. Blue as the seas that he had long since given his heart to crashed upon the canvas, lapping from corner to corner as if a true wave of the sea had sprung to life and swallowed it whole. A calming sea, a tranquil colour that brought with it peaceful memories and moments of joy. He had found surfing and through the sea, he had given his heart to the lulling blue that washed away his concerns, his upsets, and the woes of his mind. A single colour more than capable of ridding him of his worldly woes, a colour that could consume him and in which he could float in relaxed bliss for time unmeasured.
Dominic had spent early mornings with naught but his journal and a surfboard upon the beach, staring out over the sea of blue. There were days when the blue was not calming, just as it would always be, where it would be choppy and foreboding, where people would feel ill at ease because of the nature though there were destined to be days of the complete polar opposite. Days where the blue was like glass, like the world was nothing more than a giant stained glass spread beneath the Heavens and he could walk out upon it without his feet ever becoming wet. And in those moments where his mind wandered as such on those mornings, he would stretch out on his back, along the surfboard and gaze up at the sky. And the sky was always blue; a varying hue of blue, but the sky was always blue as was the sea. A comfortable consistency that Dom would never give up.
Yet, blue would always represent sadness and nothing in the world was without a level of sadness. He had to depart from the beach each morning to do his job with a whispered promise to return, though there were days when his promise was broken. And he felt a pain in his heart each time, feeling as if he had hurt -- as if he could hurt -- the heart of the ocean, but he would return and spend time unmeasured alone upon the beach. And in the night, when he was alone and in the dark, the sky was still the same dark colour with the tainted moon hanging high in the centre of it all. And the blue seemed dark, it was dark, and it made him sad to see the weary change from the cheerful colour that was there throughout the day.
Blue held an unspoken love for Dominic, one of inevitable sadness but always followed with a fulfilled promise. A promise that brought peace and serenity, a promise that had guided his hand in finding his home and a promise that would forever follow him throughout his days. A promise to return to the calming blue. Though, the blue was not always clear, nothing was in the hectic world he lived in. To have the blue be clear would be to have to blue be deceptive and in that moment, the blue would not be his own anymore.
Red
In moments of love, one seemed to wear rose coloured glasses and look at the world with the fond, affectionate, and comforting coloru that made everything deceptively soft and safe at the moment. However, when the glasses were ripped from someone's eyes, smashed to oblivion, the world remained to be seen through a shade of red. The shade of red that came along with anger. One colour to represent the polar opposites of the emotional spectrum. One colour so powerful that it could aptly cover so much and yet remain so simple in it's own right.
Red was seductive, red was enticing and kindled flames of impure thoughts should the moment be set properly. Dominic remembered the red sheer silk scarves draped over the lights in the apartment, the candles flickering reddy-orange against the walls and against them as the dance of seduction was danced. Fleeting glances turned to casual caresses and casual caresses soon became needy hands and wanton looks. Red could set a person ablaze and in that night, the passion that had long since been sparked was released and allowed to be set loose as a roaring flame that engulfed them both in the moment, burning away the bridges of retreat from the unspoken bonds and commitments made between them.
Red was angry, heated and dangerous. Yellow was often surpassed in Dominic's mind, in his vision, for it went straight to the red warning flags but rarely did he listen or heed the warnings the complex colour brought. Dominic let himself be burned, several times and he bore the emotional and mental scaring to prove it, though, he hid most under a layer of white that was painted over his face. A protective and deceptive mask that could not hide the fire of anger and passion and love that mixed within his eyes.
Anger for allowing himself to paint things white, to lose himself to the blue, but the anger was the same. And it was his fault, his fault for allowing the red, fiery passion to ensue all together. And yet, for the mistakes that had been made, the anger that had spawned from a night of heated passion, love remained. The red from the love that had consumed him for years upon years began to consume the canvas, the calming blue lost to the red of love.
Green
However, the red was soon halted in its conquest of all that was calming and tranquil, the red was soon lost to another colour. A monster. Though his eyes were blue, Dominic was a green-eyed monster, a small thing; a slightest touch could spread and consume him. The rich green, same colour as the forests he loved so dearly, the same forests that he worked so hard to spread, he had to work to stop on a regular basis. Green already began to glide over the blue, ridding the red from his sight. And the colours as they blended and merged before his eyes, as his hand could not cease to move over the canvas, the brush that would not seem to still in the least, created sickly colours. Abominations that could never be considered pleasing to any eye. Colours that lacked names and proper descriptions. Colours that could only be called pestilent mistakes as they spread and consumed what was once beautiful.
Green was his favourite colour; it matched the forests he loved. The trees and the grass, the bushes and the flowers all harbored the same colour of green. That green was natural, it was pure, and it was wonderful. It represented life and hope for more to come in the future of the world. And Dominic loved it. He was in love with the idea that one colour, one part of the world, kept everything running though it was so sorely under appreciated. In fact, the world tried to rid itself of the green. Tried to rid itself of the handsome green just as Dominic tried to rid himself of the sickly green that threatened to overwhelm him.
One wrong look, one misunderstood comment or joke, and the green would spread. Like a drop of food dye in a glass of water, it would swirl about in his mind and slowly but surely taint al of him, turning all that was sweet to the sickly green, warping his perspectives and mind. Setting him against himself and against all others, setting him against the white, against the blue and against the red. He envied the white to be so pure, he envied the blue to be so calm, and he envied the red to be so versatile and so much while being so simple.
Dominic couldn't stop himself, the colours were blurred, and the green had ruined the painting just as it ruined friendships and relationships alike. A mistake that could have been avoided had he only paid more attention to the world around him rather than the world that he had created in his mind. Though, such was the way of life and such was the way that the world worked. Green would always bring life but in the same moment, it could destroy it.
Black
Yet, Dominic would not let the green destroy things once more. And all colours were set aside and the end of all things was lifted, the end to all mistakes and the end to everything that sent demons to dance within his mind and within his heart. Demons that created ugly images that could not properly take form, images that could not take a proper shape -- not now, not ever. And in the end, once the white came to clean away all the imperfections, darkness would consume the mistakes and the abominations. The canvas had started flawed; it's lack of white tainting everything that touched it. And so, only darkness, a true oblivion could salvage it at the moment.
Black crept like impending doom across the canvas, the pestilent colours dying under the heavy paint and ridding themselves from his sight. A shadow to hide everything that he was ashamed of, a veil to be draped over the mistakes he had made and that had collected together once more. Black kept the world out, the colour that was not inviting but rather looming, ominous and foreboding. Black contained horrors of the mind though, for some, that was a comforting thought.
To Dominic, the black had always been the final solution. At the end of the day, no matter how good or how bad the day had been; the world was enveloped in an inky darkness to veil it from all to see. And, the painting had had its pseudo-pure birth and now the day had come to an end for the painting. The ominous darkness washed over the canvas, dripping from the sides and hiding long-standing memories from the tarp under his feet. The pure, desired white was lost, ruined most completely and forever. The calming blue never to be seen again, not there and should it try to return, it would have the same foreboding nature that the black had given the entire canvas. The passion, the anger, and the love were lost and never to be found. No remnants remained to be rekindled. And the green-eyed monster had been slain for the time being. He had ruined everything, rid himself of everything.
He was ashamed of the art he had created and ashamed of himself, ashamed of letting his mind follow the randomly displayed colours before him. He kneeled before the canvas, watching the other colours attempt to surface through the black, only to be swallowed once more in the inky darkness. A final moment of brilliance hit him, all of his embarrassment and shame disappearing as fast as his hand lifted to the canvas. Fingernails scraped across the textured cloth, tearing through layer after layer of drying paint, clawing his name onto the canvas as it dried.
No, there was nothing wrong with neither the painting nor the colours he had used, for now the painting was him and he was the painting. The colours and the brush had been an extension of him and they always would be. And the satisfaction of knowing that he was not ashamed of himself was instant, he could look up and see himself staring back at him and know that it was of his own creation. That was who he was at the moment and never a moment was lost. That painting would be a part of him forever just as it would be his own.
From pure to tarnished, it was him and it always would be. He was not ashamed of his work for he was not ashamed of who he was. He was Dominic Monaghan and he could not be, and would not be, anyone else in the world.
Author: _sblomie
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan all alone.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: For the LOTRPS Challenge #10. I used the colours white, blue, red, green, and black for my five chosen colours.
Disclaimer: This is fake, I do not have proof that this actually happened. Viggo Mortensen did encourage Dom to take up painting. This was written for the LOTRPS Challenge #10, a colour study.
Feedback: Oh, please. I crave it beyond your wildest dreams. And this fic was a major mental undertaking -- I spent more time thinking about this one than I had a lot -- and I would love to know how it's recieved.
-Unknown
Dominic had taken up painting under the influence of Viggo Mortensen who inspired him and urged him to make use of all forms in which he could express himself. Dom already acted, he already written more than most people wont in his diaries of all shapes and sizes, and he had a level of experience with music. But yet, to pick up the paintbrush and create something had always been more gratifying than the rest. To paint was to see the creation come to life before his eyes, to see the colours blend and merge, to see the forms take shape and the vision deeply seeded within his mind and in his heart travel through his body and through the brush as it was, essentially, a pure and nigh natural extension of his body. What he painted was what was inside, for the artist could only create something as beautiful as his heart. Though, beauty would always be in the eye of the beholder, there were days when Dominic could find no beauty in his creations. However, he could find beauty in the simplistic nature of his paints that were splayed about his feet on the paint tarp on the floor of his garage. Each colour -- from the untouched beauty and elegance of the virginal canvas to the coloured tubes and the paint they contained -- held a memory and a tidal wave of emotions waiting for the perfect moment to crash down upon him, drowning him in a flood of his own mind and heart swirling together.
Today was one such day.
White
Dominic often sat with crossed legs before the blank canvas propped up against his floor. At first glance, one could call the medium grade and self stretched canvas white, but to assume such a pure innocence was given to that which was to be flawed and hidden was almost laughable to Dominic today. Many an hour had been spent staring at the cloth, running his fingers over it before he really came to realize that the canvas was not white indeed, but rather a tainted white with the hints of cream and beige to the textured fabric. And in that moment of realization, Dom had been disheartened and saddened. All things should start out white.
White was pure, white was innocent, and white was a fresh palette in which anything could be created. When a child was born, the room was always white and when a person died, the light at the end of the tunnel was always white. White was pure. White bordered upon virginal and heavenly for all things good and right within the world were represented by white. Angels always had white wings and glowed with a heavenly light, and they were pure and innocent in the fact that they -- on large -- had never sinned. The good guys wore white clothes and the bad guys wore black, things were simple and easy in that manner.
However, just as the canvas seemed white at first glance, the canvas never had a chance to be white. To be pure, to be untouched and without flaws. By nature, everything he would create would be subtly flawed and only to him for he knew how it began and that, in itself, would never change. Yet, that was only appropriate for Dominic himself had never been without flaws. He was not born perfect, and he was not raised perfect, and he was a far cry from perfect. Innocence had been lost, he knew there was no Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy was his father. And virginal was a word lost upon him for some time, the nature of innocence that such a lack of experience brought had long since disappeared from his life. It was only fitting that Dominic longed for white, longed for the untouched, natural perfection that came with the pure colour for it was how he had lived.
For the canvas, and for Dominic, that perfection could be created. Paint it white, and things would be pure, things would be innocent but scratch it once, just right, and the tarnished beginning to it all would show through once more. White was a hope and a dream, but white would never be found in his garage. Not the pure, innocent white that he longed for. And so, rather than dwell upon the white he would never find, Dominic covered the canvas with a myriad of emotions and memories, forsaking all he longed for even more.
Blue
And so, to calm him from the upset over the loss of the white that never existed before him blue was washed over the blemished canvas. Blue as the seas that he had long since given his heart to crashed upon the canvas, lapping from corner to corner as if a true wave of the sea had sprung to life and swallowed it whole. A calming sea, a tranquil colour that brought with it peaceful memories and moments of joy. He had found surfing and through the sea, he had given his heart to the lulling blue that washed away his concerns, his upsets, and the woes of his mind. A single colour more than capable of ridding him of his worldly woes, a colour that could consume him and in which he could float in relaxed bliss for time unmeasured.
Dominic had spent early mornings with naught but his journal and a surfboard upon the beach, staring out over the sea of blue. There were days when the blue was not calming, just as it would always be, where it would be choppy and foreboding, where people would feel ill at ease because of the nature though there were destined to be days of the complete polar opposite. Days where the blue was like glass, like the world was nothing more than a giant stained glass spread beneath the Heavens and he could walk out upon it without his feet ever becoming wet. And in those moments where his mind wandered as such on those mornings, he would stretch out on his back, along the surfboard and gaze up at the sky. And the sky was always blue; a varying hue of blue, but the sky was always blue as was the sea. A comfortable consistency that Dom would never give up.
Yet, blue would always represent sadness and nothing in the world was without a level of sadness. He had to depart from the beach each morning to do his job with a whispered promise to return, though there were days when his promise was broken. And he felt a pain in his heart each time, feeling as if he had hurt -- as if he could hurt -- the heart of the ocean, but he would return and spend time unmeasured alone upon the beach. And in the night, when he was alone and in the dark, the sky was still the same dark colour with the tainted moon hanging high in the centre of it all. And the blue seemed dark, it was dark, and it made him sad to see the weary change from the cheerful colour that was there throughout the day.
Blue held an unspoken love for Dominic, one of inevitable sadness but always followed with a fulfilled promise. A promise that brought peace and serenity, a promise that had guided his hand in finding his home and a promise that would forever follow him throughout his days. A promise to return to the calming blue. Though, the blue was not always clear, nothing was in the hectic world he lived in. To have the blue be clear would be to have to blue be deceptive and in that moment, the blue would not be his own anymore.
Red
In moments of love, one seemed to wear rose coloured glasses and look at the world with the fond, affectionate, and comforting coloru that made everything deceptively soft and safe at the moment. However, when the glasses were ripped from someone's eyes, smashed to oblivion, the world remained to be seen through a shade of red. The shade of red that came along with anger. One colour to represent the polar opposites of the emotional spectrum. One colour so powerful that it could aptly cover so much and yet remain so simple in it's own right.
Red was seductive, red was enticing and kindled flames of impure thoughts should the moment be set properly. Dominic remembered the red sheer silk scarves draped over the lights in the apartment, the candles flickering reddy-orange against the walls and against them as the dance of seduction was danced. Fleeting glances turned to casual caresses and casual caresses soon became needy hands and wanton looks. Red could set a person ablaze and in that night, the passion that had long since been sparked was released and allowed to be set loose as a roaring flame that engulfed them both in the moment, burning away the bridges of retreat from the unspoken bonds and commitments made between them.
Red was angry, heated and dangerous. Yellow was often surpassed in Dominic's mind, in his vision, for it went straight to the red warning flags but rarely did he listen or heed the warnings the complex colour brought. Dominic let himself be burned, several times and he bore the emotional and mental scaring to prove it, though, he hid most under a layer of white that was painted over his face. A protective and deceptive mask that could not hide the fire of anger and passion and love that mixed within his eyes.
Anger for allowing himself to paint things white, to lose himself to the blue, but the anger was the same. And it was his fault, his fault for allowing the red, fiery passion to ensue all together. And yet, for the mistakes that had been made, the anger that had spawned from a night of heated passion, love remained. The red from the love that had consumed him for years upon years began to consume the canvas, the calming blue lost to the red of love.
Green
However, the red was soon halted in its conquest of all that was calming and tranquil, the red was soon lost to another colour. A monster. Though his eyes were blue, Dominic was a green-eyed monster, a small thing; a slightest touch could spread and consume him. The rich green, same colour as the forests he loved so dearly, the same forests that he worked so hard to spread, he had to work to stop on a regular basis. Green already began to glide over the blue, ridding the red from his sight. And the colours as they blended and merged before his eyes, as his hand could not cease to move over the canvas, the brush that would not seem to still in the least, created sickly colours. Abominations that could never be considered pleasing to any eye. Colours that lacked names and proper descriptions. Colours that could only be called pestilent mistakes as they spread and consumed what was once beautiful.
Green was his favourite colour; it matched the forests he loved. The trees and the grass, the bushes and the flowers all harbored the same colour of green. That green was natural, it was pure, and it was wonderful. It represented life and hope for more to come in the future of the world. And Dominic loved it. He was in love with the idea that one colour, one part of the world, kept everything running though it was so sorely under appreciated. In fact, the world tried to rid itself of the green. Tried to rid itself of the handsome green just as Dominic tried to rid himself of the sickly green that threatened to overwhelm him.
One wrong look, one misunderstood comment or joke, and the green would spread. Like a drop of food dye in a glass of water, it would swirl about in his mind and slowly but surely taint al of him, turning all that was sweet to the sickly green, warping his perspectives and mind. Setting him against himself and against all others, setting him against the white, against the blue and against the red. He envied the white to be so pure, he envied the blue to be so calm, and he envied the red to be so versatile and so much while being so simple.
Dominic couldn't stop himself, the colours were blurred, and the green had ruined the painting just as it ruined friendships and relationships alike. A mistake that could have been avoided had he only paid more attention to the world around him rather than the world that he had created in his mind. Though, such was the way of life and such was the way that the world worked. Green would always bring life but in the same moment, it could destroy it.
Black
Yet, Dominic would not let the green destroy things once more. And all colours were set aside and the end of all things was lifted, the end to all mistakes and the end to everything that sent demons to dance within his mind and within his heart. Demons that created ugly images that could not properly take form, images that could not take a proper shape -- not now, not ever. And in the end, once the white came to clean away all the imperfections, darkness would consume the mistakes and the abominations. The canvas had started flawed; it's lack of white tainting everything that touched it. And so, only darkness, a true oblivion could salvage it at the moment.
Black crept like impending doom across the canvas, the pestilent colours dying under the heavy paint and ridding themselves from his sight. A shadow to hide everything that he was ashamed of, a veil to be draped over the mistakes he had made and that had collected together once more. Black kept the world out, the colour that was not inviting but rather looming, ominous and foreboding. Black contained horrors of the mind though, for some, that was a comforting thought.
To Dominic, the black had always been the final solution. At the end of the day, no matter how good or how bad the day had been; the world was enveloped in an inky darkness to veil it from all to see. And, the painting had had its pseudo-pure birth and now the day had come to an end for the painting. The ominous darkness washed over the canvas, dripping from the sides and hiding long-standing memories from the tarp under his feet. The pure, desired white was lost, ruined most completely and forever. The calming blue never to be seen again, not there and should it try to return, it would have the same foreboding nature that the black had given the entire canvas. The passion, the anger, and the love were lost and never to be found. No remnants remained to be rekindled. And the green-eyed monster had been slain for the time being. He had ruined everything, rid himself of everything.
He was ashamed of the art he had created and ashamed of himself, ashamed of letting his mind follow the randomly displayed colours before him. He kneeled before the canvas, watching the other colours attempt to surface through the black, only to be swallowed once more in the inky darkness. A final moment of brilliance hit him, all of his embarrassment and shame disappearing as fast as his hand lifted to the canvas. Fingernails scraped across the textured cloth, tearing through layer after layer of drying paint, clawing his name onto the canvas as it dried.
No, there was nothing wrong with neither the painting nor the colours he had used, for now the painting was him and he was the painting. The colours and the brush had been an extension of him and they always would be. And the satisfaction of knowing that he was not ashamed of himself was instant, he could look up and see himself staring back at him and know that it was of his own creation. That was who he was at the moment and never a moment was lost. That painting would be a part of him forever just as it would be his own.
From pure to tarnished, it was him and it always would be. He was not ashamed of his work for he was not ashamed of who he was. He was Dominic Monaghan and he could not be, and would not be, anyone else in the world.