This is a desert.

Stark and white, it

seems to stretch on forever,

in an infinite aching lonliness.

It begs to be tainted, to be allowed

some sweet drop of liquid to trickle

upon it, and quench its unceasing thirst. Some

sweet drop of colour perhaps, of vibrance, to

provide the appearance of life, of meaning, of beauty

on something so deeply desolate and seemingly forgotten.

And so, the artist begins to paint.