Gemotions

“It’s flattering,” the collector had told him, a smug smile playing on his lips, “that someone loved your work enough to make it permanent.” The words hung in the air like a physical presence. The artist, Leo, could only manage a tight, constrained smile.

He retreated to the gallery’s bathroom, locking the door. He leaned against the cool tile, the cold seeping into his clothes. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against his face, trying to silence the turmoil that surged within him.

He felt an unsettling disquietude, a hollowness that no amount of admiration could fill. The appropriation of his work felt like a betrayal, a violation of the sacred bond between artist and creation.