Gemotions

He was sketching in his notebook, the charcoal gliding smoothly across the paper. The quiet focus, the act of creation, was a form of… quiet contentment. He felt a sense of clarity, of purpose. He loved the stillness of this time.

The review arrived. "The Artist's Plate" was called "pretentious," "overpriced," and the food was deemed "incomprehensible." The critic had the audacity to suggest that he wasn't really a chef.

He closed his notebook, the sound loud in the suddenly silent room. The feeling of… well-being, the clarity that he had felt moments ago, vanished completely. The colors of his sketches seemed muted, dull. He felt as though he had been hit.