There was a colour-blind artist who loved to tramp through swamps and paint the moon. She painted purple skies and orange grass and the sea forest green and blood red. Wherever she looked, she saw what others saw not and stole it for her canvas. She roamed and painted at night, because she said that colours and shapes had so much more power in the dark, when only night vision and madness can see them. She saw many things, but she heard very little: for she was also deaf and whirled up into her own thoughts, which imposed themselves, like trumpets, on the words and songs around her.
As a result, she had a wide vision but no hearing and her paintings shouted out in the silence of crimson stars