Gemotions

The scent of paint and turpentine hung in the air, a familiar aroma that usually comforted him. Not tonight. He stood, frozen, before a series of his abstract expressionist paintings. He recalled the raw, untamed energy that had driven him to create them. Now they hung on display, symbols of a period of turbulence, laid bare for the world.

A young man with glasses was leaning in close, studying the textures. “Remarkable,” he murmured. “The artist clearly wrestled with profound inner turmoil.” He felt a pang in his chest. A coldness spread through him. He turned and quietly left, feeling exposed and hollow.