Can you see me? I'm here.
Excuse my question, you see, I can't see you.
I have no eyes.
Hi. My name is C-- C for Canvas.
I spend my days and nights in the studio,
lying on an easel.
It gets cold at times, but that's okay.
I'm okay.
Well, because, occasionally, people come into this
cold studio,
some stare at this blank canvas
for one to two seconds and then leave,
some stay-- for a while more.
It's rather funny, you see, because I can't see them.
I have no eyes.
But, I can feel them.
They're warm.
Out of these warm few who stay,
some are artists.
With a palette on the one hand,
and a paintbrush on the other,
they colour me.
I can't see what colours they put on me, you see, I can't see them.
I have no eyes.
But I can feel them,
painting colours on me.
Gentle dabs on one corner.
Pause.
Hard strokes on the other.
After some time, they stop.
But I know they're still there.
I can feel them.
I also know that the blank canvas is now
a wet canvas,
but to these rare artists,
the blank canvas is now
a masterpiece.
Chortling. Chuckling.
I wish
I can see what it is they see on me, you see, I can't see me.
I have no eyes.
Is there blue on me?
Why did you use blue?
Are you sad?
Blue is the colour of the sky, right?
Is there yellow?
The sound 'yellow' tickles me.
Does yellow mean you're happy?
As happy as the sun?
Now
I'm not lying on an easel anymore.
I'm hung on the wall.
I'm framed.
I'm a masterpiece. Your masterpiece.
Thank you.
Thank you, and you, and you, you, you, you... Wait!
Where are you going?
Don't go.
Oh, excuse my question, you see, I can't see you still.
I have no eyes.
But, I can feel you-- all of you.
You're warm.
Chortling. Chuckling.
I feel so dumb. I know you can't hear me.
I have no tongue.
I wish
I have eyes though, so that I can see.
See me.
See you.
