That woman spoke once more.
She whispered in my ear the sweetest of thoughts and ideas. She offered me inspiration, and help, and all I could desire as an artist. However, I felt this to be an unfair proposition. How could an artist like I benefit from inspiration that is not mine? How could an artist like I even begin to rest, and give the reins to instinct when all I've become over years with pen and ink has driven me to a new kind of instinct? I rejected her offer, naturally. My art is mine to make, and my masterpieces will be of my own design. This woman holds no place in my mind, and much less my gallery. I am me, and I am an artist. And the EGO defeats the ID when observed by SUPEREGO. My Student masterwork is soon to come, and I will prove myself worthy of the title Docent, and soon, Maestro.