The Blasphemy of My Paintbrush
I felt the thrill of blasphemy as I painted this woman I had never seen before from behind.
I stood staring at the empty paper taped on the wall colored with nothing but white paint, and sketched her from behind, afraid that she might turn around to glance at my creation of her. Even as the brush colored in the folds of her dress, she glimpsed me, and the illusion was ruined.
This creation is a blasphemy I intent to repeat.
