a painter named Frenhofer works on a single canvas for ten years without showing it to anyone. To Frenhofer’s “ecstatic” eyes, his picture is the most perfect image of a woman ever put on canvas: it is more his lover than his picture, more a living companion than an object. Yet when he finally unveils it, his friends see nothing but “a shapeless fog” with one “delicious foot” off in a corner. Frenhofer looks again, and realizes his masterpiece is nothing but “a chaos of color, tones, and vague hues.” He sees that he has wasted ten years of his life, and he staggers back, weeping.
