Four years at Juilliard, top student in the Arts Department, graduated valedictorian, and I‘m no better than this, Noelle thought. With very little effort, she was able to pull back the grate from a lower window enough to make an opening. Lincoln Junior High was one of the poorest schools in the city; it would be weeks, maybe even a month before the break-in was reported.

With a list of supplies already in mind, she wasted no time with side trips. Heading straight for the Art Class, she made short work of her scavenging. Grabbing a roll of paper towels, an assortment of brushes, a palette, a small spackle, a handful of paper clips, and a roll of double-sided tape Noelle had everything she needed.

Getting out proved more difficult, but at this hour of the night unless the local dealer and hookers developed a sense of civic duty, her getting arrested wasn’t likely. Having maneuvered her way through the opening with all items accounted for, Noelle made her way home with a new purpose.

“Damn. Can't bleed a rock.” Posted to the front door of her apartment was an eviction notice. She wasn't all that surprised, after all it had been over two months since she'd paid rent. “Everyone knows it takes time for a struggling artist to get situated. A few months rent won't mean anything once my big break comes," she reasoned.

Inside her one room apartment, she immediately went to work. Much like her dignity, most of the furnishings were sold or bartered for food and drugs. Save for a battered three-legged easel, one dining chair, a milk crate, a card table, and an old mattress.

The image had played in her mind for weeks and now it was time to get it on canvas. First, Noelle ripped up a section of linoleum from the dining room floor. She next grabbed a sheet from her mattress and began cutting both in a twenty by twenty square. Stretching the linen tightly she used the double-sided tape to affix the sheet to the flooring. Now she was ready to begin sketching.

Cigarette ash and spittle made the perfect charcoal and allowed her to transfer the image in her head onto the linen. Noelle realized this work would demand all her creativity and talent. Never doubting herself, she prepared to meet this new challenge head-on. She would imbue this piece with her very essence.

Jonathan, her ex-husband and only true friend, would serve as the subject. She crucified him on linen, by his good intentions and failed attempts to get her off the streets and clean. Paying special attention to his face, she made sure to depict all the torment and heartache she caused.

Next to take form were the johns and dealers whose actual faces were too numerous to recall. Not that it mattered; she would expose their true selves as a warning for all. In the form of bestial specters, they began to envelop the condemned soul with vaporous bodies composed of regret and self-loathing.

“It’s good, not great, but good. “ Noelle felt the initial flutters of satisfaction as she stepped back to appraise the grey and white portrait. Left as it was it captured in a two-dimensional sense the image that had obsessed her for weeks. In order to breathe life into the sketch it needed emotion. Raw emotion. Determined to give her work great depth as well as immense feeling, she decided to go old school and use egg tempera based colors.

Spread out before her on the card table were several emptied and washed cat food cans, a carton of eggs, a pestle from where she’d forgotten, a two liter soda bottle filled with tap water, as well as the supplies she procured earlier. She scoured her apartment much as she had done at the school for the organic ingredients in which to mix her colors.

Petrified fecal matter left by a kitten long gone would be the base for the blacks, brown, and maroons. Mold painstakingly scraped from the bathroom walls and refrigerator would be blended to make the greens. Sputum and drainage from a wound that refused to heal would constitute the base for the yellows. Blood from a gash to her thigh with the spatula provided the material needed to give the browns, blacks, reds, and oranges greater intensity.

One color was still missing. White. Racking her brain for what seemed an eternity, Noelle remembered getting a travel sized toiletry kit from one of the many rehab centers she frequented. Rummaging through it, she spotted a sample-sized tube of toothpaste. She now had the base for the final color needed.

Sitting at her worktable, Noelle began the process of separating the egg yolks from the whites. Careful not to break the yolks she used a sheet of paper towel to roll the yolks in order to remove any remaining whites or membranes. Once done she placed the yolk in one of the cat food cans and repeated the process until every can contained a yolk.

Next, she placed the cat’s offerings between two sheets of paper towel, and ground it into a fine powder using the pestle. Once done she placed the powder and the other remaining ingredients in separate cans. Adding a teaspoon of water to each, she diligently mixed the contents using a plastic fork. Surplus egg yolks were included in the tempera to lighten colors as needed.

She worked for hours without a break, testing every color on a separate sheet of paper towel until she finally had the exact array of colors required. Choosing to start with two of the smallest brushes she had on hand, Noelle began to flesh out her creation. One unsteady stroke infused the following stroke with a fraction of her past resolve. Soon she recaptured the sureness of hand that was the envy of her classmates in college.

No more a lifeless reproduction of her imaginings, the portrait came into agonizing being with every brush. The condemned’s tormented splendor burst to life in rancid colors. Spirits no longer willing to remain dormant erupted from the canvas in malevolent hues. The whole suspended in a crater void of light, kindness, and hope.

More potent than she remembered Noelle embraced the euphoria of creation. Unable to rest until the painting was finished, she ignored the constant throbbing and seepage from her leg. The onset of chills and light-headedness became merely an annoyance; the dimming of her vision required nothing more than extra concentration.

Having reached a turning point, Noelle settled into a calmness that had evaded her for some time. She hoped Jonathan would understand the meaning and importance of her work, as she made peace with the fact she would never know.