Ocean Mandala

Zahina Shah

It was busy for a Friday afternoon, bottles of paint were lined up on each of the tables, and the sink was stained with colour.

Black like squid ink dripped down the side; violent streaks of violet blotched the steel, and splatters of green clogged the drain like seaweed.

Liyana ran her hands through the water, wiping it along her apron, going through the same routine as each day in the art studio. She reached for a jar of water, a few bottles of paint, and several brushes, laying all the supplies on her desk.

The unfinished painting laid against the table, half filled up with a trail of geometric patterns and stars in the middle. It had taken ages to draw, beginning from a few dots of paint until it stretched into a light constellation. After a few days of sketching, the images in her mind faded and she was unable to draw them out.

Liyana dipped the brush inside the paint and into the jar, injecting the water with spirals of ink. From there she continued the process, switching between the colours and building on the stars, painting reflections on top of an ocean. Colour ran down the canvas, the white space becoming smaller around the edges.

The sun was already setting outside, but time felt like it stilled the entire year after her friend had passed away.

After that everything felt slower; the loop of time steadied and days blurred into night, the simplest tasks suddenly took all the energy to get something done. Sleep pulled at her eyes, and her hand ached where she held onto the brush. She set it down.

Paint crusted along her fingertips and dyed her nails where it stung. She squeezed her eyes shut, slumping against the chair.

Sometimes it felt like she watched everything from underneath a glass that blurred out the things ahead and focused on one thing until it grew and took over. On days like that, the smallest things that were the easiest suddenly became the hardest; brushing your teeth and dragging yourself out of bed sucked out all the energy. Your stomach always felt like it was fluttering with nerves, and everything tasted like salt.

Liyana reached for her phone, laying her head against the cold surface of the desk and scrolled through the last messages before he passed away. An uncomfortable twist in her stomach made her squirm, pressing her thumb on the date of the last message.

No response after that; a message without a recipient. 

The door creaked, snapping her train of thought. Every small sound heightened her anxiety, and the line between her shoulders tightened. She placed her phone down, dragging herself off the desk and tried to keep her spine straight against the chair.

Natasha slipped inside the room, passing a small wave, and walked towards the sink. Water clinked against a glass jar. ‘Are you staying late?’ She said, making her way towards Liyana. The chair screeched against the floor as she pulled it out and sat across from her friend.

‘I have to,’ Liyana said, eyes pinned on the unfinished work. Tomorrow was the final day to submit her work but there were still so many things to finish up. Add more layers into the ocean, light between the glassy waves, and more creatures. It used to be easy, the thrill of watching everything come together kept her going. But without sleep, her head fell in and out of focus.

Night stretched into morning; the sky bled from vermillion to lavender. What used to make her feel calm now spread anxiety as the hours passed.

‘Wanna talk about it?’ Natasha said.

What would she say to her friend again? The same story she’d repeat all over again about how it felt to have someone just pass away. It didn’t feel like they were gone. The flickering light they carried still spread warmth, like a pale fire wishing to be found. Liyana opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She shrugged, swallowing the tangled words.

‘I’ll keep working,’ she said, trying not to let the string around her loosen and straightened her back, staring into the wall. She reached for a jar, rolling it against the table while Natasha remained silent.  

‘I had an idea you might like for the submission.’ Intrigued, Liyana slightly looked over her shoulder towards her friend, slipped off the chair and wandered towards the back shelf. Oil-stained papers and old glasses bulged out, and she reached towards it, pulling out something.

When she returned, she slipped a photograph on top of the desk.

‘It’s too late to change anything now.’ Liyana said, drawing circles along the surface with her fingernail, leaving a faint smudge of paint. What was she even doing at this art school when everyone seemed so ahead of their life? As she slid her hands into her sleeve a blossom of bruises and cuts ached, dotted across her skin. Moving slowly felt like a dozen paper cuts, making her wince. She gritted her teeth as she tried to push her mind towards something else.

At night the pain was always the worst, as if a ghost was lurking over her shoulder and stirred her awake. It felt like long tendrils piercing into her skin; needlelike and sharp.

The doctors looked at her, ignoring everything she had to say and handed her a sheet of paper with the same medication each time. Their hands felt cold as they touched her skin and then looked at her like nothing was wrong.

It kept the ghost away for a while but then it came back again, dripping into the shadows wherever she went.

Her words slurred together, and the room hazed, dripping down like jelly beneath her vision until she rubbed them, trying to sharpen her sight. ‘I don’t think I can finish it by then.’ Liyana tried straggling between the spiral of thoughts and the mix of colour across her canvas.

If she closed her eyes, everything tessellated into a monotonous pattern, questions layered after each image of what she hoped it would look like.

Natasha remained silent, eyes on the canvas, and passed the photograph towards her, watching Liyana dig her nails into her skin, making tiny crescent indents.  

‘Look,’ she said.

In the picture there was a mosque, jewel-toned domes and long arched doors. Stained glass windows blotched with turquoise and magenta reflected light. ‘This reminded me of you.’ Natasha propped her hand against her face, trying to keep her tone gentle but encouraging.

‘Just try again.’

Liyana felt the weight of the brush steadying her thoughts, still wincing when she moved, but wondered if she could paint like that again. The calming colours of pink and blue soothed her against the gentle slope of the words on the dome. There was a harmony between the designs, igniting a slow spark inside of her. ‘I thought a reference might help,’ Natasha said.

Liyana pressed down on the image and picked up the brush, slowly easing into the process again.  

More layers of paint ran down the surface, sprouting in the centre that resembled the picture. The pattern reminded her of poetry, but instead of stanzas, they swirled into stars and carefully angled shapes.

‘Also, thought you might need this. Just to give you some energy.’ Plastic crinkled against the desk as Natasha slid a toffee towards Liyana. The bright, clumsy letters on the golden paper stung her vision. Liyana carefully unwrapped it, popping the candy inside her mouth. The caramel tasted sweet and dense, dissolving the salt on her tongue.

‘Text me when you get home, okay?’ Worry laced across Natasha’s face as she slung her bag across her shoulder and turned her heel towards the door.

Liyana nodded, leaning over her painting. The blisters on her skin made her wince but she remained stiff, watching students shuffle in and out the room. Laughter bounced between the walls, but as the hours passed the space became less cramped.

Yellow light splayed from the ceiling, and the buzz of the night resonated against the desk as Liyana slid out of her chair.

Turquoise, sapphire, coral all dripped down the ends, like the ocean had washed over the surface as she layered the brush.

Liyana reached her fingers over, wishing to feel the caress of water against her skin and beheld the image of the final painting. Tiny dots of colour emerged in the back of her head, constellations of an unfinished mandala slowly piecing together.

She curled her fist close to her chest, as if holding onto the idea like a spool of silver thread. Between the shelves and tables, she gathered more colours, mixing them onto the palette.

From slow dollops of blue paint, she shaped tiny fishes; corals bloomed from pinks and the mandala grew underneath an ocean.

For a long time, she hovered over the desk, ignoring the ache in her back as she arched over, determined to finish it the same evening.

Brilliant hues of the ocean glowed, and sleep stung her eyes as she rubbed the back of her hand.

Salt rings formed underneath her eyes, but something in the slow dance of the mandala eased her.

She reached out her finger to a patch on the edge, feeling light.