I sat in my living room, drinking a cup of tea, longingly thinking of my studio in the gallery. For the past week it had been snowing so heavily that I had been unable to get to work. The solitude of my house was getting to me. What was bugging me more than the snow was the fact that I had woken up with a sudden inspiration for a new painting, and I was so stupid as to leave my paint box at the studio, so I could not even get it down at home.
I was already imagining the vibrant strokes that would fill the canvas, the soft shade of colour and the the bright highlights. It was a wonder that I had not gone mad yet. The painting was on my mind all the time, clinging to the end of my thoughts. It was so close, but it was just out of reach.
Desperate, I abandoned my cup of now cold tea in the sink and headed for my studio. It took me over an hour to search through the entire cupboard for something to use. Wedged beneath some blank canvases was a dented tin, inside were small blocks of paint. It had been my first paint set. Finally happy that I would be able to put brush to paper, I pulled out a canvas and began to paint, letting the colours guide me.
It was only when my stomach grumbled for dinner did I take a break. I took a step back to admire my work.
All I was thinking know was how much the gallery would beg for it.