Gemotions

The newspaper review stung. The critic had been kind, technically, but the way she dissected his brushstrokes, the subtle digs at his "lack of originality," made him want to rip up the paper and bury it in the garden. He felt a deep sense of inadequacy.

He’d always known, in a way, that his art was a mere echo, a pale imitation of the masters he admired. The gallery owner had been enthusiastic, but now, after the review, he had the sinking feeling that he'd been given a platform for the wrong reasons.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding the phone, the world. He considered throwing away the paints, the brushes, everything. That was the most tempting thought of all.