An empty canvass can wait on the easel sometimes for days on end, until moved by what I imagine. I can at last pick up a paintbrush and begin. Each stroke and layer of pigment that follows brings my vision to light. There are impasses of course as there are for any artist when the stubborn muse plays peek-a boo. But the joy of fulfilling what I feel within me to see it finally burst into its own existence, a place I've never been, to finally be there.