Blank

If only I can pull out a new canvas from under the bed, where several others are stored. I'll toss aside the current one and place the new canvas on the frame. Painting this time in bright neon colors interlaced with lovely pastel shades, staying safely clear of my usual darker shades. And when I'm satisfied, I'll throw open the gallery doors, and allow the crowds to come flooding in.

Each painter carries with him a brush, and a palette of colors. Walking past the painting of my life, each adds what he desires, adding to the picture, changing it. I'd stand and watch, brush in hand, ready to respond to any new addition, skillfully working it into the picture, never allowing anybody to ruin my painting.

Alternatively, I could start, again, with a blank canvas. This time, instead of arrogantly trying to paint my own life, knowing what little artistic talent I posess, I could invite the Master Painter to come, and in His gentleness, paint the first strokes. The gallery doors will too be thrown open, but He would be at the doors, restricting access, allowing only those he deem worthy, to enter.

Or is that also, arrogance?