Tabula Rasa

I looked at the painting for a long time; probably too long. I could feel Eduardo's eyes watching every flicker that crossed my face. He was an amiable sort, albeit somewhat intense - though which artist isn't? I'd spotted some of his watercolours at a second rate gallery and could immediately see his talent, so I brought him into the scene: introduced him to a few people, got him a studio space and set him up with his first few shows. After that, he barely needed me. He had become the hot new thing on the scene, fresh blood - everyone wanted one of his pieces. He was always very grateful to me, sometimes obsequiously so. I think he sometimes forgot that I didn't bring him onto the scene out of the kindness of my heart but because that was my job - finding new talent, setting them up, making a killing on some first editions if they blow up. Technically his new piece was very good and the mundane subject matter was reminiscent of Van Gogh but this wasn't what was making me pause. "Eugene," I said, "How do you know what my bedroom looks like?"