The palette is huge, the canvas is empty. It taunts you there in its pristine whiteness. You dab your brush into a nice bright crimson. You add a splash of yellow and just a touch of blue. You sketch the outlines of the old barn on the left side of the canvas and then you start working on an ancient oak standing to the left of it. You can see motes of dust in the sunlight insinuating itself in the hay loft of the barn.
The brook that runs behind the barn is burbling over the slabs of uneven slate that forms its bottom. Little orange fishes dart back and forth through the water. The clouds float fluffy and white through a cerulean blue sky. The scent of new mown hay wafts through the air.
Your brush flits back and forth from palette to canvas. Details spring from its tip like spells from the end of a sorcerer’s wand. Before you realize it the canvas is full of a world where moments ago there was only barren white emptiness. You take a deep breath and step back to inspect your work. It is lunch time. This world is as complete as your imagination can make it.
You put your brush in a jar of turpentine to soak and wash your hands in the sink in the corner of your studio. The smell of vegetable soup and freshly baked bread has drifted up the stairs to summon you hence. You are filled with contentment. You scratch behind the ears of the black and white long hair cat and say, “Come on Thomas. We’ll get you some tuna fish for lunch.” You stop for just a second to appreciate the ambiance of your studio before you and Thomas head downstairs for lunch.
Sweet dreams, don’t forget to tell the people you love that you love them, and most important of all, be kind.