As a painter treasures a blank canvas for its potential, a writer treasures a blank sheet of paper for its inspiration. A painter must listen to his canvas and make the first stroke; from which all other strokes will culminate. So must a writer fill the first page, the nature and connotation denotes the shape and form of subsequent pages.
Color upon the brush: meet your lover, canvas. Two worlds collide, moving both to a higher understanding. As soon as they meet, the blank and dumb canvas is neither blind nor mute. He now speaks with the vitality of his new eyes. Behold: a new creation, though he is only one brush stroke he will grow. Every new brush stroke perfectly placed; there are no mistakes. Hence, such “mistakes” give the world its flavor, and if aborted, the world looses another color. Thus, the world is not colorless; an empty canvas beckons the painter to paint new shades.
Mighty pen: meet your lover, inspiration. A harsh taskmistress, she is. She demands letters grouped in sensible words, then dressed into full bodies. Minutes bleed into hours and days of this love. Until, behold, the first page has been born. These hours of labor reward its mother with a bundle of hope. “What is this new squirming creature? How am I to nurture it, feed it, help it grow?” The mother inevitably asks. Grow it shall. More pages of life will be added, each new word as important as the old. All comprise this new creation and give life where none once lived. One can only live word by word, page by page.
This truth brings the end back to the beginning. Just as the painter writes with colors for the human eyes, a writer paints with words for the human soul. Yet, even when an end or completion dawns, it brings new inspiration, new potential for the beholder.