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“What is it painting?” Puurokauha (Porridge Ladle) whispered to Perfume. Perfume just shrugged. “Circles and lines and angles, and maybe stripes too – or they could be lines as well”, Perfume said and continued gnawing on its rye bread. Puurokauha squinted, trying to see all the way to the canvas of Taidemaalari (Painter), but it was very small, and Puurokauhas's spoon obscured half of the view. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Art is about the main things. Things that are mainly in your head.”