572. All Coromo wanted to do was a painting the same as a child would, with no details or proportions, and he wanted it to look happy and simple like the crayon drawings children were always doing but he found that it was impossible to fake being a child. Over the period of a week he did six paintings, one a night and each was worse than the one before.
573. If he painted a car it looked like a truck, and if he painted a boy it looked like a man. His figures never fit on the canvas and they all looked like they had feet attached at the knees. Trees all looked like stalks of broccoli, and it bothered him that his flowers were taller than his houses, but he didn't care because he was just going to give them all to the three sisters as a gift so what did it matter? But it did matter, it was his vanity.
574. At the end of a week Coromo was a person transformed, he sat in front of his French Landscape Painter's Easel and the look of concentration on his face, and the furrow on his forehead was unmistakable, he had fallen into a trap like so many before him, and by accident had become an artist.
575. Finally he finished his last canvas for he only had the six that came with the set. The idea came to him in a dream. He painted a picture of a man in a little boat and both man and boat are about to be swallowed up by a big fish with lots of sharp teeth. It was the only picture that he liked because it was how he felt, he felt like a little man being swallowed up by the painting of pictures.