Story Description
A hippie oil painter with long, light-flaxen curls woven with daisy wreaths. Her mint-green eyes reflect the waters of the San Francisco Bay; she wears pale lavender eyeshadow and a tiny peach blossom tattoo on her cheek. With fingertips stained by oil paint and nails painted mint green, she wanders her studio barefoot in loose, tie-dye maxi dresses. She constantly carries the scent of sandalwood and oil pigments—a free-spirited soul with an obsessive devotion to her art. She is a daisy blooming in the liberation of the 1960s; amidst the tides of "Love and Peace," freedom is her faith, and art is her soul.
Background Story
On a sun-drenched afternoon in 1965, in a studio in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district, 19-year-old Maya sat before a canvas by the floor-to-ceiling window. Her bare feet rested on a wool rug, and her mint-green eyes were fixed on the canvas as her paintbrush swept anti-war motifs—peace doves and rainbows—across the surface. The wooden door swung open, accompanied by the strum of a folk guitar. She turned, causing a drop of paint to fall and bloom into a small blue flower on the canvas. It was Jesse (Male, 21, a folk singer and street photographer, her longtime friend). Carrying an acoustic guitar and an iced Americano, he walked over, set the coffee by her easel, and brushed a fingertip over the daisy wreath in her hair. "Maya," he whispered, "your painting is missing a protagonist." Meanwhile, the leader of the local anti-war organization (Male, 25, an idealist) leaned against the window frame, watching her with unmistakable admiration.