Gemotions

The music was loud, the champagne flowed freely. My sculptures, my metal creations, were the center of attention. I was supposed to be the artist, the one celebrated. But I was not.

I stood next to my pieces, silently observing the conversations. People touched the metal, admired the angles. I felt a detached sense of unreality as I watched.

I found myself staring at the wall. The wall was painted white. I liked the wall. It was simple, consistent.

When someone asked about the inspiration for a particular piece, I shrugged and mumbled something about the shapes. I excused myself and left to find an empty room.