"Okay. Now try this" he paints on a sheet of see-through white paper with a beautiful large brush and I look on amazed as each stroke goes on the paper unanounced and yet perfect. Each line not a line but a piece of art. How can one line make itself into such art? I wonder amazed. I try it myself but I am afraid. The man who just left scared me. Scared me out of my comfort. I have been left with a shallow self, shaking on the inside a bit and it shows. It shows on the paper with each stroke. The lines are not his lines, not beautiful strokes but shaky to the point of sometimes even being invisible. "No, no, not that. Argh." He shows me again. And again the same beautiful strokes
... read more