[Gurdit]

Black easel. Nineteen-inch canvas. Ten paintbrushes and twenty-six primary colours. I’ll mix them up and play with them. I promise to create magic…

But the morning comes, dark and gloomy. The lovely grey clouds of promise have turned ominous black. It’s the calm before a storm. In the stillness, I can feel the tension about to explode this silence. Fingers have stopped moving, but thoughts are running faster than ever. Brows begin to furrow. I jab hard at the backspace key. A line gets wiped out. Yet again, fingers come to rest. Yet again, thoughts run faster and more furiously. Brows furrow tighter, meeting in the middle - wrinkled skin. A final thought…

The storm announces its arrival with an explosion of thunder! With an angry shout of frustration, I pick up my sentence and smash it into the ground, words and letters going flying about - the result of a perfect thought and an imperfect expression. I stare into a semi-completed piece of art, in progress for days on end, and slowly get up and walk away ... for now.