It was the beggining of Spring.The day where birds flying home and flowers blooming.The wonderful sight that could calm you no matter how sad you are.The warm breeze that you can never think of anything better.The colors of Spring that brings back memories.A memory you could only express on a piece of paper.I walked to my studio,my drawing studio.I stood there alone inhaling the smell of oil and paint.I sat facing a canvas on it's board.The colors were there,the brush was there.But something that is supposed to be there was nowhere to be found. 



“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” 
― Oscar Wilde,The Picture of Dorian Gray.