Rob steps across the threshold into the black box studio. He’s crossed over hundreds of times yet each time feels fresh, like stepping into a brave new world. As he arranges his acrylics and preps his palette, the make-up artist comes forward to fiddle with his permed hair. There’s no wrangling the nimbus on his head, but that never stops her from trying.
“There we go, Mr. Boss,” she says stepping away to admire her work. “Good luck on the shoot today!”
“Thank you, Carey.” He knows the next words will fall on deaf ears. “And just Rob is fine.” He never cared for the unfortunate connotations of his last name.
“Ready, Rob?” The director holds a thumbs up from behind the camera looking for Rob’s approval.
Rob looks around the cramped studio. Time seems to slow. What an unremarkably remarkable job, he thinks. The things he’s seen, the places he’s been — he tries to show people through his paintings, his show, his personality, the wonders of the many worlds tucked away across reality. He hopes he’s making a difference, that settling into this line of work wasn’t a mistake. Then he remembers what he always tells his viewers about mistakes…