There is a studio somewhere in Italy.
Windows covered. No name on the door
Voices say the paintings arrive at night, wrapped, unsigned except for four letters on the back.
No one has seen EMSI paint.
Those who claim to know EMSI are wrong, or promised not to say.
Somewhere, right now, an EMSI is hanging in a room you will never enter, changing the light of a house that belongs to someone you will never meet.