There once was a painter. He wanted to paint everything in the world, so he took the largest canvas he could ever find and started painting in his studio. In the beginning, people came by and watched interestedly as the landscapes spread around on the white canvas and detailed characters began to emerge in a world of green plants and wild animals. The years went by, and the painter would still be painting, adding layer upon layer, color upon color. No stone would be left unturned.

People around the painter naturally became impatient, some even aggressive. "When will you finish that painting of yours?" they asked. In the end, people left and the painter was lonely, feeling that no one understood him. He would just be painting in his studio, all alone.

But one day, he met a girl. She was also a painter and she wanted to meet him because they had something in common. They had both worked on a single painting their entire lives, so they would have something to talk about. The girl showed her life's work to the painter and he began to cry when he saw it, not only because it was so beautiful, but also because he recognized the beauty of his own painting in her work. The painting was very simple. Just three dots and a canvas as white as milk. "You see," she said. "We are just the same. I will never really begin and you will never really finish. But we will always be painting until we disappear because that is who we are: painters."

This little story might not just be about painting, but also an allegory of music. Perhaps, the story could be a part of "Utazata," a Japanese word from 12th century Japan used to describe the passionate conversations on music that were held between singers and their audience. Pianist and singer,