Easel on the tracks

The rain had been falling for the best part of six years when the artist had the sudden urge to create a Self Portrait, as so many artists do. He took his trusty paint splattered easel and the biggest piece of crisp white canvas he could find and set out towards the nearby abandoned railway tracks. He felt slightly pimp like as he forced the easel to straddle the tracks, and became nervously excited in doing so. He then ran for half a mile up the tracks to his medium sized pink steam train. He climbed in and started the engine with his car key, that also worked for his train. He could just make out the crisp white canvas sitting innocently in the distance. The engine began to roar as the train gathered speed. The artist became naked by taking his clothes off and covered himself generously from head to toe in black acrylic paint, massaging himself like a woman in a soap advert.

With the canvas fast approaching, he smashed the front window with his coalman like hands and clambered out onto the front of the train. Giggling uncontrollably as the rain mixed with the paint creating the perfect consistency, he gripped tightly onto the cold camp pink metal of the train and braced himself for impact.
SMASH! it went, like a brushstroke from a wrecking ball.
Dismounting as soon as he hit the canvas he rolled professionally along the ground. Not caring for the fate of the train he ran back up the track to retrieve his masterpiece.
The canvas lay broken on the sodden ground. “This looks nothing like me.” he raged and left it with the rain washing his mark away.

He returned naked and empty handed to his studio and placed a 2 metre square canvas against the wall signed it in the corner, he then turned his back to it, put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.