Tuesday, June 26, 2007


The stark white was brilliant - practically blinding in its clarity - pure, unblemished, untarnished. The first artist gazed upon the surface feeling unworthy of the challenge. Hesitantly, he painted pale pastels of sky blue, violets and pinks.

The second artist appraised the muted beauty and dared to strengthen the colors, adding forest greens and sunflower yellows to rainbow colored fields of grass.

Soon another darkened the light sky with storm clouds and turned the sunny summer fields into late autumn browns and threatening grays of winter. The canvas hung upon the wall sad in depressed overcast skies. Soon winter snow clouds blew in whipping white across the empty open barren plains.

Discarded in the artists' loft, along with half empty tubes of paint, where was the one to fill the canvas? When the sun returned upon the canvas, a new artist saw the great potential in the emptiness and claimed it as his own. He studied it and let it talk to him - let the paint and canvas express itself. Eventually it was finished on the surface where upon he created his great masterpiece. And the canvas was happy.

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