Poor art student Erica has her Work In Progress show fast approaching. Problem is, she doesn’t have any work. She can never finish her sketches because she’s over critical and thinks too much about what each stroke means. Out of necessity she’s doing a Jackson Pollock, letting her mind go blank and her hand go where it wants, when it wants. She doesn’t even stop to apply fresh paint to the brush. What does she see in her muse? Is it a reduction of cuboid shapes? An abstract formation of unplanned lines? Or is it simply a surface reading of what she sees in his pants? A doric column juxtaposed with two spheres.