Blank

The painter pulled, and the cloth fell to reveal the blank, white canvas underneath. It was his latest masterpiece.

The poet, his sole audience, was awestruck by the work of art.

“Is it a…….?” the poet attempted to ask.

“A cat,” the painter said.

“My God. Yes. A cat. This is almost a miracle,” the poet exclaimed.

“Thank you,” the painter said. “It is a masterpiece, if I do say so myself.”

“And how did you arrive at this masterpiece?” the poet asked. “It is remarkable in its concept and its flawless and perfect execution.”

“I sat before the canvas for weeks and weeks, imagining this cat. And this is the result.”

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. And this cat, is it chasing a mouse that is outside the picture?”

“No,” the painter said. “It is fleeing from a dog that is just outside the frame.”

Giddily, the poet asked, “May I show you my latest poem? I believe you will be amazed.”

“Of course,” the painter said. “I’ve anticipated reading it as much as I’ve anticipated showing you my painting.”

The poet pulled a blank sheet of paper from his pocket.

“My latest epic,” he proclaimed.

“My God,” the painter said. “It must be a poem about a cat.”

“How could you have known?” the poet asked.

“An artist’s intuition,” he painter said. “And how did you arrive at such an epic poem?”

“Like you, I sat before the blank page for weeks and weeks, imagining this cat. And this is the result.”

“It is, indeed, flawless. It is the perfect poem about a cat,” the painter said.

The poet thanked the painter for the compliment.

“We are both of the highest order of artists,” the painter declared. “Thus, we share things that most ordinary people don’t.”

“Yes,” the poet said.

“And in your poem about a cat, it is fleeing from a dog as well?”

“No,” the poet said. “It is chasing a mouse.”

“It is an exquisite poem, indeed,” the painter said. “One that will surely make you even more famous.”

“As is your painting.”

“However, as a fellow artist, I feel it is my duty to give you a friendly, artistic word of advice.”

“Of course,” the poet said. “That is our duty, to support and encourage one another.”

“In your next poem, perhaps your cat could be fleeing from a dog.”

“Brilliant,” the poet said. “So, may I return the favor?”

“Of course,” the painter said. “I value your opinion and advice like none other.”

“I suggest in your next painting the cat is chasing a mouse.”

The painter and poet embraced and passionately kissed.

“Do you know,” the painter said. “I think I will abandon cats for now. I believe my next painting shall explore my absolute love and adoration of you.”

“Brilliant,” the poet said. “I was just imagining that my next epic poem shall explore the deepest, purest love I feel for you too.”

“Somehow I know your poem will be perfect,” the painter said.

“In the same way I know your painting, too, will be flawless.”

“I am certain of this,” the painter said. “For we are both artists of the highest order.”

“Indeed,” the poet replied.

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