Titanium White

She's almost finished, thought the unnamed man. Almost.

He looked at the lake, which didn't use to be a lake. At first, it was just a field, empty. He was the second oldest thing here, the first being the sienna undertones of the world.

The sun shined through the naked branches of the trees, over the frosted lake, turning it bronze, but the snow only caught the light like a translucent silk.

The unnamed man looked around his boots. More snow? I do hope she knows how incredibly cold it is. Waiting here will be the death of me.

He felt his stiff fingers stuck in his brown jacket's pockets. She never honors those commitments does she? Always late, but she finishes eventually, and always with me.

He thought about the long years he knew her and wonders if it's because he resembled her father. It was only ever a photo he saw of him. And maybe that is the reason he has traveled so much.

The unnamed man watched as a more white appeared around him. He sighed. Quite enough. Now, it has become unnecessary. And just as he thought that, the white disappeared with a quick swipe.

There was a pause.

He could feel her eyes.

Ah!

The unnamed man now knew his name. Finished finally, have you? Let's see. Yes, I like the name, but on to the new project, something with more green and umber will be best, I think.

"Winters comfort," oil on canvas, 2024.