I run my fingertips across the blank surface
It’s cold, and bare and I know that I must do it justice
To the naked eye, it may look empty, but instead it’s a cup yearning to be filled with something
Something to quench its thirst of being filled with nothing
Like a plant that hasn’t been watered, I take it upon me put this canvas out of agony
I smear a drop of paint, but unsure of what to do next, it glides down forming a river of uncertainty
Its flowing and flowing and flowing, till it reaches the end of the canvas and becomes one with the floor
And just like that, the journey of this canvas was set ashore
I had set high hopes when I dipped my paintbrush into that pigmented liquid
As I thought what happens next on a painter’s journey would just be scripted
But all I could plea was, “ I don’t know what to do next”
And all my eyes could perceive was a drop of paint in front of me with zero context
Seconds turned into minutes and the clock struck “3”
I was sitting on my wooden stool for hours, waiting patiently for an idea to set me free
The soft-bristled paintbrush still lay in hand
And it has finally come to my attention that this whole painting thing had not gone how I planned
As my nemesis, a fly, flew near my ear
I was jolted upright and swatted it away, letting out a cheer internally
But during my celebration of defeating a minuscule insect,
The stool teetered around and dashed to the ground, thanks to my pure neglect
As my head dashed towards the amber tiles below,
It hit me! No not the floor, but instead a ravishing idea that I could not let go
I grabbed my brush and my palette of paint with emotion flowing through my veins
And now finally after waiting for so long, I can let my idea and passion for painting take the reigns