​

[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn’t want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.
 The man, as he was so, just wanted a place in this world for his art. He There he sat, twirling his personal, stylized mustache. It was avant garde, just like he wanted to be. The man, as he was so, just wanted a place in this world for his art. He continues to stare at the easel, thinking. 
After a while he felt a firm, calming hand on his shoulder. He sighed, hanging his head wearily. “Are you yet another man come to end my life, if you can even see it that way?” The hand didn’t answer, as it had no mouth. However, it’s owner did, speaking the soft, assuaging tones that had come to make him famous. 
“No sir. I’ve seen too much death and war to want to do another such thing. Instead, I have come as a tutor. Here, grab that 2 inch brush and dip it in some titanium white and blue.”
Hitler did such a thing, and the man behind him nodded. “Good. Now, mix them together, until you have a rather nice pale blue…” 
Adolf did so, his brush strokes trembling across the pallette. “Easy there tiger, try to keep yourself calm, now. Painting is all about being steady, confident.” Adolf nodded again, and went this time, albeit a bit slower, and mixed another selection. After he had done this the stranger patted his shoulder. 

“Good, now let’s see you paint a nice, open sky.”

“But how? I can barely paint the ground, let allow what lies above it!” 

Sighing, the man grabbed a firm hold of his arm and lifted it up. 
“All you have to do is nice, tiny Xs, like so..” 

A portion, the top left hand corner was soon filled with a nice layer of blue. 

“Now go ahead, try it.” 

Adolf sighed and attempted this, and, to his surprise, mimicked the man’s stroke almost perfectly.
“Ah! There ya go! Now, wash that brush off in your water and beat the devil out of it on your wood there…” 
At this point, adolf couldn’t help but turn around in surprise. “You want me to beat my easel with it..?” 
The afro’d figure behind him nodded, pulling off his woolen hood. “Yes sir I Do. Go on. It won’t hurt it.” 
“Tell me who you are first, then maybe I will…” 

The figure smiled a bright smile, as a squirrel popped out of his hair.

“Why, I’m Bob. Bob Ross. And I heard you wanted to be a painter.”