He saw the world as it was, a beautiful array of colors and shapes, ideas and formulas, voids and space, love and fear. It was all a canvas that left just enough space for everyone to paint their own story, their own lives in the whites of the world. Some painted out and off the canvas onto the walls if they dared and other painted in a smaller area than provided. And then there were those who ran their strokes over and into the lives of many others either ruining their work or creating something simultaneously beautiful. He was a true artist, one who saw the world for how it was supposed to be seen; with an open heart, mind, body, soul. He judged none and nothing. It was all the same to him; parts of life that were each equal and necessary, the art of the world.