As I sit there in the back of that plain room, that would make you go insane if you stayed to long, I watched him paint the most beautiful painting. He was a tall man that stood low so that he wouldn't stand with pride, his long shabby hair was pushed behind his ears, he had little to no facial hair, his eyes were a bold green color that would almost appear glowing when the sun hit them just right. His clothing was so simple but, yet so put together. His feet were bare so that he could be closer to the earth, his hands were big but so gentle, he would paint so softly with every stroke you would never have guessed he was the painter. The way he would mix the colors and the way he would look at the painting with a soft relaxed look you could almost feel his emotion just pour onto the painting. Painting to this man was his escape. He let his mind be put into colors because words would fail him. He was an artist.
