Sabotage

“Nothing about this seems right,” I said out loud.  I quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard me.  The Community Art Competition was next week and I had finally gotten enough courage to enter a few of my pieces.  The competition was probably the most important one of my fledgling, not-quite-started career and I didn’t really want anyone to realize how much I talked to myself. 

My life would be forever altered if I managed to win this competition so I didn’t need anyone else getting into my headspace.  I knew I had  fairly good chance just based on the fact my art was a little quirky – a little off – and no one else produced art that looked much like mine. 

I had gotten some interest from other art schools and galleries mainly because no other artist produced anything like I did.  I wanted to prove myself to my parents who thought being an artist was not a suitable profession because it didn’t always lead to stability.  But I was starting to wonder if my current piece was going to get me where I needed to go. 

I stared intently at my painting and wondered what was off.  I tried tilting my head each way and finally realized what it was.  There was a thin, but extra layer and another signature on one side.  My mother.  I knew it was her and I knew it was sabotage when I saw it.  I just needed to know exactly why.