"I always thought that all you have in that brain of yours are rainbows and unicorns." The sarcastic voice of his mother reverberated in the room as she barged into his studio.
He knew that his mother never learned to compliment him and his work. Therefore, he was not about to hope for one. Instead, he ignored her by not responding with a comment.
He focused his eyes on his latest creation, letting his fingers brush in an upward direction, creating a clean stroke that formed the base of the image in his head.
"I am glad to learn you can think of numbers too." His mother continued to taunt him as she moved around the room as if inspecting his other works.
His mother was an avid fan of famous paintings, not because she loved to collect art. No! Her appreciation had nothing to do with the beauty and meaning of the artwork.
