I’m staring at this spare room, right? Like, it’s supposed to be my studio, my *atelier* — I even Googled fancy French words for it, pathetic — but it’s just… empty. A blank wall, a dust bunny. Years ago I sold all my canvases, everything, for the steady gigs, the health insurance, the mortgage, you know? Good decisions, smart decisions, that’s what everyone said, what *I* said. Now I got this space, bought a fancy easel online, it’s still in the box, and I don't even know what color paint I’d buy anymore. It just feels... flat. Like a really bad joke.