“You mean it’s a sort of challenge?” “Exactly. The blank canvas stares at me like an idiot, but I know that it is afriad of the passionate painter who dares, who once and for all has broken the spell of that ‘you cannot.’ Life itself turns towards a man an infinitely vacant, discouraging, hopelessly blank side on which nothing is written, Margot, no more than on this blank canvas.” “Yes, doesn’t it.” “But the man of faith and energy is not frightened by that blankness; he steps in, he acts, he builds up, he creates, and in the end the canvas is no longer blank but covered with the rich pattern
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