The painter dashed from his bed and grabbed his brushes. Obsessed, he painted madly as the orange sun crested the morning sky. Paint spilled while brushes flew against the blank canvas with grace and speed as the master painter created an image from his memory. He had to work fast or his vision would fade.
Desperately he worked trying to recapture the image of the woman of his dreams. She came to him every night, whispering her undying love and each morning before he woke, she made him promise to find her. He had promised, yet every morning as the sun rose and his eyes sprang open, he would forget her face. For years he has tried to recreate his dream lover’s face with the tools of his trade.
Finished, he stepped back to look at what he had done. He stared at his creation of beauty, a masterpiece like so many others that have brought him fame and fortune. Yet for him it was nothing, just another piece of worthless junk. For his many years of hard work and determination, he had failed to find his true love. Frustrated, he threw his brushes at the wet canvas and turned away to weep in a large room full of portraits depicting the only thing he could remember of his dream love, her beautiful eye.