I stand in the museum among my classmates, staring up at this small piece of history. The image stands out to me, drawing me from the group. My artist’s eye catches even the smallest of details, lists in my head the materials needed to recreate this piece. Blue paint, brushed steadily back and forth across the top of the canvas, creating the background of the sky. The second layer, white is swirled on top, lazily pushed around with the brush, mixing with the blue it touches, to create layers of clouds. Waiting for the sky to dry, I would take a smaller brush, and barely touch the paper as I drew hundreds of small curves, grass bending in the wind. While that dried, I would gather the deep, natural browns and greens needed for the next segment of my work. Using a thick brush, I would start at the bottom, creating the base of the tree, turning the brush to make the lines thinner as I carve out the roots. Then, I would work the brown paint up to when the tree splits into its many limbs. Taking a smaller brush, I would extend the limbs outwards, turning like arms, waving naturally in the wind. With even a smaller brush still, I would revisit the trunk of the tree, carving lines in the bark, swirling around a dark hole where some animal, barely visible, lives. Working with my tiny brush, I would do the same for each limb, too small a groove to even be visible to the untrained eye. After the wood is painted, I would start with the leaves. Coating a brush in green, I would apply the first layer of paint, gently pushing the side of the brush against the paper, creating the shape of the leaves. After the first layer is finished, I would wait for it to dry, then using my tiny brush, would carve out veins in the leaves using a lighter shade of green. Then I would start the next layer, and repeat the same steps over, and over, and over, until only miniscule shreds of brown are still visible. For the final layer, I would use a green that was almost white to show the sunlight reflecting off of the leaves. After completing the tree in my head, my eyes wander to the smaller details. The gray, fuzzy, shape, curled up in the hole in the tree. I would need to mix that with black paint while it was still fresh on the page, creating the creature whose fur blended with the darkness. My eyes scan the painting, searching for another hidden detail the creator only meant to be seen by true artists. As I do, I can hear my class walking off to the next part of the museum. I sigh, and turn around. No painting is worth being left behind.