Beautiful Madness

The walls were tall and plain and boring. They closed around me, shutting out the entirety of the outside world except for what little view I could see from the one small window on the far side of the room. I had agreed, rather reluctantly, to be admitted to this asylum for a year. They claimed to be able to cure me of whatever madness had overcome me. Somehow I doubted that was possible.

I had come here on the agreement that I would still be able to paint. I suppose I should have considered myself lucky to not only be allowed to paint, but to have all the supplies―I had Theo to thank for that―but what good would the supplies do me with so little inspiration? How was I expected to paint while locked up in this small plain room?

I stared at the walls, the walls that kept me locked away from the beauty of the world beyond them, and I suddenly came across an idea. An image formed in my mind, a memory of a beautiful scene I'd seen many years ago.

Next thing I knew I was standing before a canvas, as I painted the picture that had appeared in my mind, begging me to bring it out of my mind and into this cold world with nothing but a brush and canvas.

The stars and moon glowed the brightest yellow I'd ever seen, against a deep blue sky, as swirling white clouds surrounded them. Beneath the chaotic sky sat a sleeping town and rolling hills, and beside that was a towering mountain, that cut through the sky and cast a shadow upon the town.

I spent countless hours working on it, to the point where it was unhealthy. I always did when I had a painting I wished to complete. Over the next week I spent any free time I had alone in my room, painting each brushstroke with care, and knowing that I should savor this rare but wonderful burst of inspiration.

When I was at last finished I leaned it against the wall and looked at it from a distance. There was but one thing to be said; it was beautiful.