I pick up the paintbrush and stare at my subjects.
This is what I was summoned for, this is what will make me famous.
The king wanted me to work for him; to paint him and his court.
This isn't what I wanted to do, this isn't true art.
But this feeds my family and makes me known.
Yet, I'm not happy, I'm not fulfilled.
I turn my gaze to my canvas and touch my brush to the paint.
For now, this is all I can do; this is what I must do.
Because, for now, this is all I have.
My brush now touches the canvas.