Chapter: A Portrait Under Construction for a Year I look at the canvas, standing in the corner of the room, and feel time stand still. This portrait is my unsolved mystery. It began with enthusiasm, with inspiration that blazed brightly, but now, a year later, it remains unfinished. Each stroke is a memory of something I once wanted to say but couldn't. At first, I thought I could finish it in two or three days. It seemed that if I just concentrated, put all my energy into it, there it would be—a finished portrait reflecting not only the image but also my state of mind. But reality turned out to be quite different. Day after day, I avoided it, put the brush aside, finding new excuses. Other things consume me. Work, earning money, petty chores—all of this, like chains, binds me to everyday life. I promise myself: tomorrow, definitely tomorrow, I will finish the portrait. Tomorrow I will find the time. But this "tomorrow" has already lasted a year. I approach the canvas. I take the brush in my hands. A trembling anticipation—what will it be? Will the portrait be able to tell my story, express what has accumulated inside me over this long year? Or will it remain unfinished, like many other beginnings? I'm afraid to finish it, because this act will contain not only the end of the work, but also the result of my reflections, my efforts. What if I see on the canvas not what I expected? Or, conversely, what if this portrait turns out to be too honest, too real? The longer I think about it, the more I feel that the finale is inevitable. But I can no longer hide behind excuses. The brush is in my hand, the paints are laid out. You will find out what happens in the next chapter.
