The artist dipped his brush into the bowl of water, and drew
it out with swift ease, pressing and sliding its edge against the chalky white
metallic edge. The paint that had wet its bristles before in a thick chrome
yellow mixed in with the clear liquid forming a swirling cloud of color that
moved in hypnotic ripples. His hand paused in mid air for a brief moment, as
his gaze fixed upon the canvass and measured the stroke that was about to be.
He then jerked in to action and the paint brush traveled through the air, letting
drops of now lessened yellow splatter on the ground from its head, before
striking the canvass with absolute confidence and moving in transcendent
strokes. The camel hair swollen with the moisture of the desired hue now left
behind a path pregnant with a shade reminiscent of a ripe lemon peel struck
aglow by the shimmering rays of the afternoon sun. The movements of the artist
kept pace and matched the rhythm of the classical violin concerto breathing
life in to the silent room from an old gramophone in the darkest corner. It was
as if the notes of the symphony that provided the artist with his cues were
streaming in to his ears from unknown depths of the dusty room's soul. Art and
beauty were dancing in heavenly steps bringing to life all that needed to
exist, which for the moment, was nothing but the old man and his canvass
performing a duet of aesthetic abundance with gracious elegance in response to
the unspoken request of the long dead maestro's still vibrant violin strings.
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