Chapter 2 DESPERATION

Ava Morales had always held a steadfast belief in the transformative power of art. It served as her sole constant (her escape, her fervor and her ultimate purpose). However, today, as she found herself in her disordered art studio-gazing at a wall filled with unsold canvases-she could no longer dismiss the unforgiving reality. The bills were accumulating, the rent for her modest studio was overdue and her savings had long since been depleted.

Ava had assured herself that she wouldn't allow her dream to dissipate, but it was becoming increasingly challenging to maintain the conviction that her work would eventually yield rewards. Her once-vibrant studio, tucked away in a serene corner of the city, now resembled a prison. The walls, which had previously been adorned with vivid masterpieces, stood bare, with only a few scattered canvases propped against them. The paintbrushes she had once wielded with assurance now appeared to be instruments of desperation. Although her vision had always been remarkably clear, it was now obscured by the urgent need to survive.

Ava cast a fleeting glance at the phone in her hand, the screen inundated with text messages and missed calls-most notably from her mother, Maria. She had not engaged in much conversation with her this week and Ava was acutely aware of the reason. Maria, a resolute woman who had single-handedly raised Ava, was anxious-anxious about Ava's financial difficulties, anxious that her aspiration of becoming an artist was impractical and anxious that her daughter might ultimately be consumed by the demands of adulthood. Ava swallowed hard and opened a message from her mother: "I know you're busy, mi hija, but please remember that family comes first. Don't let this dream of yours take everything from you. I'm here if you need help." A pang of guilt pierced Ava's heart. Her mother had sacrificed so much to afford her the life she currently enjoyed. Maria had toiled for long hours as a housekeeper, doing everything within her power to furnish Ava with opportunities she never experienced. Ava recognized that her mother's sentiments emerged from profound love and concern; however, they also embodied a stark reality: Ava's artistic pursuits did not cover the bills. It was a luxury, not a dependable source of income. Although Ava loathed to acknowledge it, she found herself increasingly questioning whether her mother might, in fact, be correct.

She needed money. Fast.

Ava opened her online gallery and let out a sigh as she scrolled through the listings. Although a few paintings had sold over the past couple of months, the prices remained low and the buyers were primarily collectors seeking inexpensive pieces to fill their spaces. Her art, once celebrated for its originality, had become just another commodity. She had reduced the prices significantly, attempting to make a sale; however, the buyers were still few and far between. There was no market for her work, no chance to exhibit her talent beyond the limited audience of her online followers. She checked her bank account-$275.35-barely enough to cover groceries for the week, let alone the rent that was due in two days. Ava leaned against her desk, her heart sinking under the weight of a reality from which she could not escape. How long could she continue to pretend that this was enough? How long could she pursue a dream that seemed to drift further away with each passing day?

As if on cue, the door to her studio creaked open and Ava turned to see her mother standing in the doorway. Maria was a small, wiry woman; her dark hair was graying at the temples and her face was etched with years of worry and hard work. Despite her age, she possessed a vitality that stemmed from sheer determination and it was this spirit that had helped her raise Ava, even when the task seemed impossible. "¿Cómo estás, mija?" Maria asked, stepping into the studio with a concerned look on her face. "I'm fine, Mama," Ava replied, forcing a smile. "Just... just thinking." Maria's gaze flickered to the paintings scattered around the room, her eyes narrowing with concern. She knew her daughter well and she could see the anxiety hidden behind Ava's forced cheer. "Is it about the bills again?" Maria inquired softly, her voice tinged with worry. Ava nodded, unable to keep the truth from her mother any longer. "I don't know how I'm going to make rent, Mama. I've been trying everything. However, it's not enough." Maria crossed the room and gently placed her hand on Ava's shoulder. "Mija, I know you love your art, but sometimes... sometimes we have to be practical. You can't live off dreams forever."

Ava's heart constricted at her mother's words. She had encountered them innumerable times previously; however, they never stung any less. It wasn't that Ava failed to appreciate her mother's concern-rather, it was that Maria did not truly understand. Art was not merely a vocation for Ava; it was an integral part of her identity. If she relinquished it, if she abandoned that aspiration, she might as well be relinquishing herself. "I know, Mama," Ava murmured, her voice heavy with emotion. "But I can't stop. This is everything I have. If I give up now... I'll never forgive myself." Maria exhaled softly, her gaze softening. "I understand, mija. I do. But you must approach this with wisdom. You cannot continue to sacrifice everything for something that isn't yielding results." Ava's frustration erupted. "I'm trying! But no one cares about my art. No one desires to purchase it. I'm trapped, Mama. Trapped in this small studio, barely making ends meet and it feels as though no one even acknowledges my efforts. All my work, all my dedication-it feels worthless." Her mother's demeanor shifted and she stepped back. "It's not worthless," Maria asserted firmly. "But you need to contemplate how to advance. And perhaps... perhaps it's time to entertain alternative paths." Ava's eyes widened in disbelief. "Alternative paths? What do you mean?"

Maria wavered before articulating her thoughts. "Perhaps... perhaps you should consider... a job. Something stable. Something that can cover the expenses." Ava flinched at the proposition. "A job? Mama, I don't want to be stuck in some office or retail space. I'm not... I'm not cut out for that." Her mother bestowed upon her a look filled with understanding. "You're destined for success, mija. However, success does not always unfold in the manner we anticipate." Ava's thoughts spiraled. A job-it seemed a capitulation, a forsaking of all she had strived for. But as she surveyed her studio-taking in the bare walls and the unsold paintings-she could not refute the reality. She was exhausting her options. "I'll think about it," Ava eventually uttered, her voice scarcely audible. Once her mother departed the studio, Ava collapsed into a chair, the gravity of the decision bearing down on her. She did not wish to concede, but perhaps her mother had a point. She needed to be pragmatic. She was compelled to find a means of survival. Yet, the idea of forsaking her dream felt like a betrayal. She wasn't prepared to release it, not just yet. She merely required one more break, one chance to demonstrate that her art held significance. That she herself held significance.