An off handed style. With wild strokes. Placid colors. Or were they upbeat. I am not really good with words. But her painting. It was breath taking. The painting itself was amazing to say the least. That would be least. It was other worldly. It didn't just calm you or soothe you. It drew you in. Tugging at your very soul. It didn't yearn for an escape from this mortal hull. It became content. Something surreal happened when you looked at that painting. And, well, seeing her paint. That was something else entirely. It felt like cheating though. You were not admiring her, rather her work. Which she would like, but it would be cheating with her. But she will forgive that. But even if she does forgive that. It still is cheating. Well, I was never a saint to begin with. And she knew that.