I was an artist. I painted many a sunrise, oceans, and meadows, yet even after all my years, and all my projects I had never seen a color near as beautiful. Such a deep, thick red that seemed to pulsate with life. I simply had to use it.
The new color proved difficult to work with, such a fallacious little red it was, turning a dark brown once impoverished. I had to use so much of it that I soon ran out before I could finish my work, I would have to get more. But where?
Finding the red was easy enough. You can find it almost everywhere in fact, to think that all this time has passed, all these wasted years living in ignorance of its beauty. Extracting it was busy work however, and messy… yes, very messy work indeed; but there can be no great art with ought great sacrifice.
Over time I mastered the new red. I combined it with oils to keep its natural color upon drying, it made procurement of the red less frequent; which was becoming quite troublesome of late. The talks of missing persons and night-long searches were distracting me from my work. I had almost enough pieces for a full galleria. Finally the whole world could witness my beautiful red.
The show never came. Some mangy mutt saw to that, it had picked up on the smell coming from my workshop. With it came the authorities, the uncultured beasts who understand nothing of art, yet presume to know the law. They took me away, defiled my art. I tried to explain, if they would simply look at my work they would know its beauty and understand the sacrifice was well worth it in the end.
They labeled me a madman and cast me upon this white room, this padded hell without any hint of color. Here I am damned to rot, my work never finished. I was… am an artist, all I need is a canvas and I can start a new body of work. A white empty place to fill with color. I will do it here! I will transform this white hell into a paradise using a new red, a red more deep and vibrant than any other! My own red.