I thought: " No one has ever held my brushes." I was thinking of two in particular. One was a white satin 5/0 detail brush. the other was a pure red sable no.4 -flat. They were the brushes I had been using to work on the painting of Dal's shirt that night. I handed them to you. I put them into your hands. You reached out and took them. I wanted another human being to experience what I had experienced. I felt the privilege of having been the only one to ever use these brushes, but at the same time, I felt it as a kind of loneliness. There was something religious about handing you the brushes and I witnessed it as if observing it as the action of a third person. I imagined that you moved them around in your hand or hands and experienced them as I had. Caressed them and formed a relationship with them as I had. I have worn out so many brushes. I have been the sole user and have used them until they are useless. All used up. My brushes. No one else ever touches them.
