Then it dried.
So I covered the whole thing in white and judiciously scraped and scraped and scraped and scraped and scraped with the palette knife until lots of the underneath bits were poking through (I just accidentally typed "puking through"). When it was dry, I scraped at it again and dribbled some white enamel all over it.
At this point I still had no idea where I was going, except for the wee sheep on there. On a whim I put the sheep in the woods and all was well with the world.
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little (sheep) must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year."
I'm quite sure Robert Frost meant sheep and not horse, right?