Sonia bled the paints as if to draw them outward from themselves. She asked too much of them some days.

"It is no good!. I am no good."

"Take a break, then, love. You're letting stress block the flow."

"No. I've always done my best when under stress. But this time..."

She threw down the palette. Speared the brush into the jar of turpentine so hard that blue-purple splotches wet the table.