Chapter 986
Chapter 986:
“You have a point,” Fernanda agreed with a slight nod, making no attempt to argue. “It was just a passing thought. Art is open to interpretation, after all.”
“But this painting has received high praise. Your comment might come across as disrespectful to the artist. Everyone here either deeply understands watercolors or has a real passion for them. You should be mindful of your words—you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”
There was a certain arrogance in his tone, as if his knowledge made him the ultimate authority while others had no right to an opinion.
Fernanda always found people like him amusing. They carried themselves as if their appreciation for antiques and art placed them on a higher plane—like taste alone equated to superiority.
It was clear he didn’t think much of Fernanda. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a layperson. A woman like her belonged in a high-end boutique, not an art gallery. She was probably here to chase trends, snap a photo, and post something vague about “art appreciation” to rake in likes and compliments.
If she had simply admired the painting in silence, he wouldn’t have cared. But offering unsolicited critique? Acting like she had real insight? That was crossing the line.
Fernanda barely spared him a glance before turning back to Curran, continuing to study the paintings as if he didn’t exist. But the man wasn’t ready to let it go. He gestured toward another piece, his laughter edged with mockery.
“Miss, with your keen artistic insight, how would you improve this one?”
A few nearby visitors, having caught the exchange, looked over with thinly veiled amusement.
It was obvious—he wasn’t just asking. He was challenging her. Seeing Fernanda remain silent, the man assumed she was at a loss for words and decided to push further.
“Just a moment ago, you had quite a few thoughts on Rose’s work. Why so quiet now? Would you like me to share my thoughts on this piece with you?”
gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.k𝗈𝗺 – 𝓐𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝒶𝓽 𝖠𝖳
He adjusted his collar, flashing what he clearly believed to be a confident, refined smile.
Fernanda met his gaze, then asked evenly, “Talking is one thing, but can you actually paint?”
The man scoffed. “Of course. My work is displayed right over there.”
He gestured toward a section of the exhibition, and Fernanda followed his indication, glancing at the painting.
“Oh, that one?” She tilted her head. “I noticed it earlier. It’s fairly standard—nothing that really stands out. There’s definitely room for growth in your technique. Maybe if you spent less time critiquing others and more time honing your craft, you’d see some real progress.”
A few quiet laughs rippled through the crowd.
Fernanda’s gaze lingered on the man, amusement flickering in her eyes as his expression soured. He had approached this exchange expecting to impress her. But now, the tables had turned. His frustration was palpable, barely kept in check.
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