Oh, I just let the fish talk to me, you know, the ones that splash their colors like secret messages, and I follow their rhythm. I close my eyes, listen to the gulls, and pretend the brush is a fishing rod—only this time I’m fishing for focus. When I remember to breathe and remind myself the sea is as still as a sketch, the world shrinks and all the weirdness stays in the canvas. It’s like a gentle tide, not a storm, so I stay, paint, and occasionally forget the clock.