Pure

When I was offered the canvas I grabbed the brushes without hesitation. I had a few colors stashed in the drawers that I pulled out too.

To begin you start with white. Right? 

I guessed.

Just to be sure it's pure, because if it's not who knows what might leak out, stain, or bleed through. It's always exciting to begin on a new canvas, although this one wasn't new, it still had all the potential and all my attention. So it was covered in white, the first thing I knew how to do.

You said, Make something light and graceful like slipping into a crowd unnoticed, charming like a wild rose in a field of weeds, with a challenging perspective to elude a passerby from it's reality, as comfortable as your favorite sweatshirt, yet a mysteriously vast darkness that keeps calling you deeper. 

When it comes to the fine painter, it's not about you. It's not about me. It's not about what looks good or feels good either.

You're still believing the lies. Quit.

So I listened this time and took the colors I had, blending them into swirls of pure mess to bleed across the white.