As metaphor, it reads well enough. The pathetic conclusion’s sense of lyric tragedy . . . well the prose pushes into poetry in several pushes, and this one pulls it through.

Were it taken as literal narrative, I’d reply: just mess around! Particularly with oilpaints, there’s instant enjoyment. One doesn’t need to wait till a picture is achieve, an image is limned. As soon as the colors spread on the canvas, the colors themselves carry happiness.

So there’s a counter-thought.
But the dirge of your tale is not unfamiliar.

cheers,
d.i.