This story was written based on the photograph... I was then given obstructions by my professor for each rewrite... this is what happened...

The Masterpiece

She had always been an artist. But today she looked at her art in a whole new manner. She had spent the day in the sun, her shoulders were stained with the harsh marks of the UV rays as she created a 10 foot by 8 foot chalk mural. She sat back now the pavement burning her legs and palms.
She marveled at her creation. There in front of her Daniel laughed and played his pudgy legs carrying his body from one end of the mural to the other, his tiny feet kicking up chalk dust creating a rainbow cloud.
His tan skin and dark hair contrasted against the bold bright colors of the masterpiece. Looking at him she wondered which was more so the masterpiece, the mural or Daniel. Her son.
She had not expected him. In fact he had been the aftermath of the one night she would give anything to forget. For two months after the rape she tried so hard to get on with her life. To heal. And then she found out she was pregnant.
Her first instinct was to rid her body of this intruder left by the stranger that had violated her. However when the time came and she had been alone and with her feet held in place by padded stirrups she stared at the ceiling counting the tiles and she realized that it wasn’t just the stranger inside her but also part of herself.
Seven months later she met Daniel for the first time. At first she was devastated. He looked nothing like her, but then he coiled his fingers around her own and she knew she had found a way to heal.
Now. Today. It was 2 years.
As she watched her son play she thought of all the times she had been told to look for the silver lining in a storm cloud. Daniel was certainly the silver lining. She knew beyond a doubt that he was the masterpiece.

* use third person objective point of view

The Masterpiece

The late afternoon sun was reflecting in the young woman’s hair. She could not be more than 24. I watch as she puts the final touches on her masterpiece… Her chalk mural reminding me of anger and aggression with the bright reds and purples, yet I can see no trace of this in the present. Her eyes shine with pride as she watches the small child run back and forth over her creation, her laughter dancing with the warm breeze and she and her classmate talk.
“You amaze me.” Said the young man.
Her nose crinkled and she shrugged. “its not that impressive” she replied.
I wondered if he was referring to the same thing she was. He wasn’t.
“Really Amelia. I look at that mural and I remember the day Daniel was born. I knew you would make a great mom, regardless of what happened. But wow.” He pauses.
Her eyes go dark and she pulls her knees tight to her chest. She stares at the boy (Daniel?) like she is waiting for some sort of epiphany to come forth. It doesn’t. At least not from my vantage point.
He gushes forth, “And you never stopped once… you kept up with school, you rebuilt your life, your helping other victims… and Jesus. Daniel is such an incredible kid.”
She stares at the boy, barely acknowledging what her friend is saying… The small child comes barreling towards her throws himself into her arms.
Her laughter reverberates again.
“Yeah it is a masterpiece…”

Obstruction #2
* Tell it from the child's point-of-view presently or looking back years later. (either way, play with the idea of the unreliable narrator).
* Show the mural w/ highly specific detail
* Set the story in a specific place, providing the reader with a strong sense of the physical context of the story world.



The Masterpiece

I stood at the window watching relatives come in packs, bearing gifts of casseroles and cookies. Their black clad bodies moving together like a cluster of storm clouds. It wasn’t time yet for me to face the masses and accept their condolences. I sat on my mothers bed and looked around the room. It was filled with the clutter of an eclectic woman with a passion for art. Yet shining through all of it was one photograph that was as familiar as my own voice. I couldn’t have been more than 2, if even that.
It was taken on a warm summer day and I stood in the middle of a giant chalk mural that my mom had created as part of her drawing class at the annual art fair in uptown. The mural was a mass of swirls, deep reds and fuchsia, purple and yellow and chartreuse. It was a cloud of figures and shadows, all jumbled together beating in a passionate rage.
That picture had been in Mom’s room for as far back as I could remember, always in a wooden frame painted in colors similar to her mural, she had written the word “masterpiece” at the top. I never quite understood because all though it was a beautiful mural it definitely wasn’t her finest work.
A knock on the door. With out waiting for a response Tom, my mothers best friend, entered the room. His face fell when he saw me looking at the photograph.
“I remember that day.” He said softly, “Amelia was so determined to finally create some sort of artwork to really express how she felt as a rape victim.”
I looked at him. I had known for years that I was the result of a traumatic rape, although my mother made it clear every day that I was never mistake.
“Daniel, I wish you could have been there that day. She had so much pride in you. I think it was that moment right there watching you play on the mural, the mural that was supposed to express all the rage she felt as a victim, that she finally let go of it all… I will never forget the love in her eyes as she hugged you and marveled about the masterpiece.” He smiled and looked me in the eye. “At the time I thought she meant the mural… but really it was you that was her masterpiece.”