Each of us gets handed a blank canvas; the moment we get this life. Each one gets a different set of supplies—some limited, some unlimited, and some none. We begin with random mark-making, scribbling on the way, and using whatever comes in our supply list. We also learn to create our supplies and grow fond of certain few. Some never begin. They don’t like to paint. They want life to keep happening and filling it up for them. They want to be the critics and not like what gets painted in front of them. Then others feel battered when their canvases are tossed over and sometimes even torn apart. They still get up and patch up the tears with whatever they can lay their hands on. They then proudly carry the canvas wherever they go and, bit by bit, add more marks and lines to the landscape of life. Some are natural-born artists, while some learn it on the way. Some love what they create, while some do not so much. Nevertheless, we all have to take care of this canvas and sign it sincerely before handing it back to the Great Master.