In ancient Japan where a lifetime's devotion to perfecting a single discipline is held in the highest regard, there lives a man who is famed above all others.
He is a brushmaker.
He lives in a small and innocuous house that borders the edge of a placid lake from whom it is said peace and harmony are mingled in such a way as to produce waters of unrivaled purity.
It is here that he toils through the day and long into the night, producing the finest brushes from the rarest materials.
His workmanship is the stuff of legend.
His brushes fetch the highest prices and are sought out by the wealthiest of collectors.
It is said that if you were to paint but one stroke with a brush made by his hand, that the image left on the surface of the paper could tell a thousand stories if only man had the wisdom to read them.
I on the other hand, use the hair of my Daughter and that of my cats.