At the moment in a room in my home there is a blue chair on a red floor and there being little else in the room to distract from these two objects one’s attention catches on the blue chair on the red floor. There’s a can of forest green paint in the opposite corner waiting on time and inclination to cover both the red floor and the blue chair and is the reason the room is, for the moment, mostly empty. I expected the colour change would have occurred by now but it hasn’t and the delay is offering the extended attention. I could do a painting of the blue chair on the red floor. But since the actual painting of them is going to come about, eventually, a painting seems superfluous, unnecessary, un-paralleled. It is as if the painting already exists in some suspended state and will be washed away like a sand painting on the shore once the waves come in.