It's New Year's Eve, and the painter is sitting down to paint. He's not sure what he's going to do with his life, so he scribbles and scribbles until he gets to the point. He doesn't want to paint anymore, he says, because it's hard to draw clothes. He asks the painter to draw a picture, but the painter won't show him the finished product. The painter is all, "I don't know what to do, I'm just going to scribble and scribble" . The painting is fine, the painter says, but he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't "some kind of beastliness unruliness" , which is what painting is supposed to be about. He then goes on to say that painting is judged by how confident the artist is in his or her technique, not by how realistic the painting is. If the artist paints with confidence, the painting will be fine, but if the painter paints with realism, it'll be a disaster. He gives the painter the keys to his room and tells him to go ahead and leave. He says he'll welcome him back, and