In praise of the dot

I am staring at a big white computer screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. Ten years ago I stared, pen in hand, at a blank page. Ten years before that I held a paintbrush and stared at a blank canvas. When I was 10 years old I grabbed fistful of crayons and stared at a blank page. Ten years before that I was the blank slate. Anothe ten years prior, I was in utero, just tiny cell, a dot, really. I guess that means every great artistic journey begins with a single dot. Profound, huh?