Quinton Moss is the Think-Painter. Martina Thorpe is the woman he loves. Martina's father, Kensingham J. Thorpe, is a chemist, philosopher, and the world's foremost authority on the brain.
The professor has devoted his career to searching for the first thought, the original synaptic interplay that created thinking. Everyone possesses this thought in their deep subconscious. "It's the instinct that drives us to seek each other," the professor says.
He knows the Original Thought is in us, and he believes he's found a way to it.
"They are paintings. Not paint like oil or watercolor. They're electronic, kind of alive."
"Alive? They're not alive."
"In a way they are. The human body is all electric and chemical. These paintings connect to it like a second body."
"What?"
"Not a body, of course."
"Of course."
"More like another mind, the artist's mind."
Colby didn't comment. He knew a little about think-painting. It wasn't a modern art form. It had been around since the late 21st Century. Few people in the art world took it seriously because there weren't many good think artists.
Some critics considered it free thought unfettered, as compared to other computer-assisted designs in which the machine was a direct partner. When it came to think-painting, the computer network was more like a canvas. A distinction that Colby didn't comprehend. He wasn't in any hurry to figure it out.
