Art Gallery

I walk into a gallery. People are in there, however there is only one painting in the room and no one is looking at it.
I look at the painting, a grotesque image full of suffering, violence and death. I see why it is avoided, yet I am unable to turn away. A man speaks to me, asking me to check a much better painting. I turn my head and I see nothing there. The man tells me of the beauty of the painting I just do not see. I tell him there is nothing there. He gets angry at me. I wave my hand where his painting is supposed to be and feel nothing. The man tells me more of his painting and how wonderful it is. The images he describes however seem appealing in some parts, but appalling in others. Humouring him I ask about the painter. He describes a neurotic control freak, yet described him as loving and social. Like the painting, I doubted his existence.

He tells me of the joy the imaginary painting gives him, but I point at the only one there. I tell him that is all I see. He tells me the painting does not exist. I put his hand on the frame. I can tell he can feel it, but he denies it. He once again tells me of his painting, however he now warns me that if I do not praise his imaginary painting, the painter will attack me. I felt insulted, but I knew his threat was empty and walked away.

A woman approaches me, She also has an imaginary painting she wants to share. I listen to the images she describes. Some slight variations, but ultimately the same imaginary painting. A different painter is credited. Again a person who thinks only of himself yet autistic, violent yet peaceful.

I once again turn to the painting that's actually there. While largely ugly. I see specks of life, hope and peace. The painting may not be pretty, but I'd happy admire the real, than force myself to accept a fantasy.