I can hear them gathering out there, trying to be quiet like proper connoisseurs of art. But their anticipation is too much; someone is arguing that he was shoved out of his position. Ten more minutes and they will be ready.
My latest canvas hangs behind the curtain, the full glory of the Sierra Nevada ready to burst like a revelation at my East Coast audience. They will revel in my brushstrokes, fall into the resplendent valley.
They believe me. To them, my masterworks have become the divine vision of the Western gods. I contain the transcendence of open wilderness.