The painting

The painter unfolded his easel and placed the three legs firmly in the sand. The eternal roar of the ocean helped the essential spot in his mind focusing on its unedited and soothing behavior and, its symphonic rythms and tones, telling stories about the beginning of the World, the in between, the end and the beginning again. A challenge to the subtle abilities, although a deeper sense of intuition was ironic about this innocent and pompous undertaking, not really leading to a valid conclusion.

The blind frame with tensioned canvas was wedged, and some colors squeezed out on the palette. He wanted to make a painting giving a fine impression of the ocean, as he felt it had encouraged him to do so.

He respected the ocean and found greatness, wisdom and confidence in it. He felt the same way about the starry sky. When darkness was total, and the air was clean and clear, the starry sky was such a great experience for him. He felt a deep peace inside and a sort of longing in the inner core of the soul.

He noticed a woman walking towards him, dressed in a long skirt with many folds in a fine, lightweight fabric following her movements. She was wearing a straw hat with a large brim. Nothing else. Her amber hair reached down to her waiste. “How beautiful and poetic” he thought, as she hovered directly towards him.

She looked at him, and with a voice sounding like thousands of tiny, crispy bells arising from the foaming waves and noctilucales, she said:

“I am your muse, and I come with a gift for you. You may have one wish fulfilled.”

“Isn’t it fairies tending to delegate wishes?” the painter said.

“That’s true… But a goddess sent me, and her rank is much higher compared to both fairies and Muses.”

“I have sometimes thought about what to wish, if the opportunity ever came my way” said the painter and continued: “I concluded that I would desire as many wishes as there are grains of sand on the beach. But when I look at you my only wish is to embrace you and that it must never end.”

A painter later found the easel with the unfinished painting on the beach. He brought it home to his studio and worked it until it itself said stop. Many people later said that after having regarded the painting for a while, they could clearly hear the roaring ocean.