"You should try and be a bit faster. I know perfection takes time, but we don't have much of that left." I heard my mother's voice say as I touched the canvas in front of me with a wide end brush. We were in the art room that was mostly silent. The movement of our brushes against our paintings being most of the background sound.
"I understand," I muttered, replying to her comment as I touched the sky of my landscape painting with yellow. I would be having an exhibition with my mum and some of her colleagues in a month plus. I felt happy, as well as a bit intimidated by the idea of having my work hanging beside my mum's in an exhibition, even though it would technically not be the first time.
"Good," I heard her say from her corner of the room. I turned to find her holding her brush about
