Amateur

"Amateur?!" I shout in time with rough brush strokes, "How dare he call my work amateur?!"

I had been replaying the moment again and again, a broken record that ripped my heart strings and filled my blood with passion. I successfully produced a simple painting, not lazy, not contrived, not amateur; something with a sophistication. And what did he do? He looked down at me with those tortoiseshell glasses resting arrogantly on his nose. After staring at my work with his beady little eyes he states with an unmistakable French accent, "amateur," then just walked away.

"I'll show you amateur!" I laugh, stepping back from my completed piece-- a perfect rendition of him as the devil.