row。 When a painter renders the fury and speed of a horse； he doesn’t paint
his own fury and speed； by trying to make the perfect horse； he reveals his love
for the richness of this world and its creator； displaying the colors of a passion
for life—only that and nothing more。”
287
I AM CALLED BLACK
Various manuscript pages lay before me and the great Master Osman—some
with calligraphed texts and ready to be bound； some not yet colored or
otherwise unfinished for whatever reason—as we spent an entire afternoon
evaluating the master miniaturists and the pages of my Enishte’s book；
keeping charts of our assessments。 We thought we’d seen the last of the
mander’s respectful but crude men； who’d brought us the pages collected
from the miniaturists and calligraphers whose homes they raided and searched
（some pieces had nothing whatsoever to do with either of our two books and
some pages confirmed that the calligraphers； as well； were secretly accepting
work from outside the palace for the sake of a few extra coins）； when the most
brash of them stepped over to the exalted master and removed a piece of
paper from his sash。
I paid no mind at first； thinking it was one of those petitions from a father
seeking an apprenticeship for his son by approaching as many division heads
and