The Artist And The Curator Part 3

Throughout the weeks of painting, he had been taunted by everyone. Some told him to forget it and don't bother wasting his time on something that can never be accomplished. But he went about it anyways. To his ears, all those taunts were indirect inspiration. They acted the way fuel does to a raging inferno. Sure, when times were difficult he felt tempted to submit to those taunts, but memories of past forbade him from ever falling into a trap where the weak-willed have so often
fallen into.

Then finally, after weeks of toiling, he was finished. He had double checked to ensure that he had not missed a single detail. Every shade was given a shade. Every rock, given a detail. Every color emphasized to perfection. It was his crown jewel, it was his child, it was his blood. He loved it the way a mother does her child. Upon completion, he called his friend over to his studio. He asked for his friend's opinion. His friend promptly pronounced his satisfaction in rhetoric that he will never forget, for this rhetoric will later serve in a way the flames from a gas stove does to a boiler.

After the dates had been negotiated with the arts curator, and the gallery, all he needed to do was to present them. Present them to the very same eyes that had earlier flung him out the window with the contempt of a dictator. But he was confident. He was confident enough so much so that he sang the song of the warrior all along the way to the gallery. He felt like a king. Who wouldn't?

'Honourable judges, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great reverence that I present to you the painting which everyone has been anticipating.' said the master of ceremonies to the already restless but building crowd. 'With out further delay, I give you 'Nature's Fury'.' With that, the stage curtains were lifted, revealing to the crowd, the painting.

At first there was a deafening silence. The artist started to fidget. Then, after what seemed like eternity, the crowd started to converse among themselves. The judges started conferring with each other. The artist started to get nervous. Was this it? What does it mean? Why aren't they applauding?

'Dear sir, after a brief conference between us, the judges. We have decided to rank your current piece of art work, 'Nature's Fury,' no higher than your previous artwork. Thank you, and good evening. With that the entire crowd started taunting him.

The artist was shell shocked. He stood rooted to the ground, mouth wide open. He couldn't believe the words that had just came out from the mouths of the judges. But why? What had he one wrong? Didn't he not put in his entire heart and soul into his work? What about his friend? Why did his advice fail so miserably? It was then he saw a sight that he would never forget.

It was his friend, standing in the judges booth, shaking their hands with pride. Head held high and nodding his head to every word the judges said.

What did all this mean?