Gemotions

The gallery lights gleamed off the polished concrete floor, perfectly highlighting each carefully placed canvas. Elias leaned against a wall, a half-eaten pastry clutched loosely in his hand. He watched the crowd, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as they examined the large, abstract piece dominating the main wall. "Interesting interpretation," he heard one woman say to her companion, who nodded enthusiastically. Elias took another bite of his pastry, the crunch a satisfying punctuation to the moment.

His shoulders subtly lifted, an almost imperceptible gesture, but he felt it. The exhibition was a disaster; he knew it. He had specifically rejected the gallery's approach when they first contacted him. To see his work here, misrepresented, was a kind of victory. He had warned them, hadn't he?

He took a slow sip of the complimentary champagne, the bubbles tickling his nose. The artist statement was completely botched. Whoever had written it clearly didn't understand the first thing about his creative process. Elias felt a wave of internal warmth. They wouldn't know the truth. Only he would.