At the young woman's question, the artist put his glass down on the floor, although there were tables nearby.

"Give it to me then. I'll have a look at it."

The young woman handed him the painting with both hands and he accepted it with both hands.

For a moment he looked at it in silence, then held it up by the outstretched arm beside him so that everyone in the group could see it.

In order to be able to see something herself, Meia changed her position with steps to the side closer to the young woman.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blonde woman in a two-piece swim suit lying in the sand. Her head was closest to the viewer. Her legs were going away to the back. It was as if you were standing behind her and looking down at her. Her arms were outstretched towards the viewer, as if she wanted to hug you. The picture was a real painting with oil colours. It had a strong texture. This was especially noticeable in the hair. Such paintings were always the most beautiful.

Secretly listening, Meia chewed her bread.

"I'm afraid that's exactly what I was talking about."

Slightly shocked, the young woman took a half step forward. "What do you mean, Master?" she asked with panic in her voice.

"See those lanterns there." With his free hand, the artist briefly pointed to one of the lanterns from the strings. "That's art. Sure, you might think it's just a cheap lantern with no great value, but someone handcrafted it as best he could until it was finished. Art is not about value, quality, skill or recognition. It is only about creating something. This lantern is art. This, on the other hand, is not. This is not what you wanted to paint. Why did you paint it?" he asked sternly.

"But this is exactly what I wanted to paint..."

"You may have set out to paint this, but it is still not what you wanted to paint. When I look at your painting, I do not feel anything, because I realise it is just a painting. The world you want to show me is not real. It does not exist. It did not exist. It never will be. I do not need to care about it. Do not get me wrong, you painted a beautiful woman and you painted a beautiful beach, but what you should have painted is a woman lying on a beach. Your woman is lying on a background. Think about how she affects this world and how she is affected by this world. It is good how the fingers dig into the sand and the marks by the feet, but that is not enough. Your woman is supposed to be lying in the sand. How did she get there? Did she make any other movements before that which might have left traces? She could have been lying on her stomach before. She could have been in the water before. Your woman has not done anything in her life yet. She has only existed for a moment. Why does she not sink into the sand? Has she no weight? Why do the shadows fall almost evenly from her body on the uneven ground? Why are there no grains of sand in her hair? It could be a glint in the sunlight. All her strands lie on the sand. Not a single one is buried. Your woman exists on a world and not in it. If you want to be my disciple, you should consider such things. When you look at a work, you may see its beauty, but when you look at art, you feel it. In your painting there is a qualitative discrepancy because after the woman you did not feel like painting anymore. If you do not want to paint a background, then do not."

In the course of his judgement, the artist pointed from time to time at various spots in the picture, but never touched it. His finger always lingered just above the paint. The young woman nodded after each of his points and listened attentively, as if absorbing his every word. In the meantime, Meia had turned all the way to the group so she could see better.

"As for the woman herself, it really turned out very well. The best I have seen from you so far. The practice has paid off. But I have some advice for you here too. There is something that even art teachers often do not get right because they do not ask themselves what their picture would look like from a different angle. You often see long clothing that has to exist in a parallel universe because the space is double-occupied. You should pay more attention to that. This strand of hair here, for example, can not be here. Her breast is already in this space. If it was lying on it, it would slip away. It did not. So it flys. Earlier you said that your painting would be classified as realism. But you failed at that too. It is obvious that you had no real model, because this woman would not exist. Symmetry looks beautiful, but perfect symmetry does not. You should change her face. You wanted her to look erotic?" Slowly the artist slid his fingers over her lips. "If you put another line of black between her lips, it looks as if she is about to say something. Implications are the wings of the imagination. They make a work more interesting. Art is not a moment. Art is a testimony of time. Do not show a moment, but make it the result of a past and imply a future."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The woman was still nodding, but by now she had visibly slumped. The artist verbally destroyed her painting. Meia actually found the painting incredibly beautiful. Everything he had criticised sounded like intricate detail work. Did one have to work precisely to that extent? The world of art was brutal, apparently.

"Thank you for your advice, Master. I will do better next time."

"I'm glad to hear that. The day I don't criticise you is the day from which you should stop calling me Master."

Consolingly, the other man patted the young woman on the shoulder.

"Don't take it so tragically. Maybe you failed to make it with the woman, but at least you've put your work in the sand. Haha..."

*TL-Note: I don't know if this phrase exist in english but: set into the sand equals ruined.

"By the way, I haven't seen anything from you for a long time either."

Immediately the man fell silent.

"My judgement sounds negative, but what is true for symmetry is also true for perfection. A work without flaws is expressionless. Perfection is the death of art and the artist. The flaws show you that you are not yet at the zenith. There are still things to learn."

The clingy woman took a half step forward to draw attention to herself.

"Whatever happened to the original painting of the woman? Did you get it sold?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. An older man offered me a considerable sum for it and I was anyway .... never ... interested ... Miss, is there anything I can help you with?"

Suddenly Meia was addressed directly. The artist had noticed her presence and was visibly surprised that she was standing next to them.

So Meia was invited to speak. The moment to introduce herself had come.

Eight eyes looked at her expectantly.

"I-I wanted-", Meia murmured softly.

"Please?" the artist asked in a strong voice, choking her off.

Meia backed away. The pleading did not sound positive. It clearly sounded as if she was not wanted. Meia looked down at her plate, intimidated.

"Nothing."

"Don't you think it's rude to eavesdrop on a private conversation?"

"Yes, it is."

Seeking help, Meia looked up at the other three.

None responded in any way.

She had not even uttered a sentence and already they had all decided they did not want her.

"Do you know her?" the clingy woman asked the artist.

"No."

The woman leaned down to look Meia in the eye.

"Weren't you at the buffet earlier?"

Had she seen her there? Was she trying to wind her up? Meia bit her lower lip.

"Girl, who are you?" the woman asked her.

"Me-Meiandra Arvis."

"To be honest, I've never heard the name before. - You Remi?"

"No, neither have I."

"And what do you want from us, Meiandra Arvis?"

The way the question had been asked was very from above. Was it because Meia had disturbed the group's conversation? Was that really so bad? After all, she only wanted to introduce herself and talk a little so she wouldn't be alone. Or did people know who she was after all and therefore had no interest in her in the first place?

"I... I just confused him with someone else." Meia quickly explained.

While the woman was still thinking and before anyone else could reply, Meia hurried off.

~I can't. Why do I have to be here? I want to go home again.~

It was hot. The dress stuck to her and a discomfort was in her stomach. The lights of the lanterns glittered annoyingly in her eyes and forced her to blink. Only with difficulty did she find her way through the people to the pool. She went there simply because it looked cool. The water was clear and you could see all the way down. Dimly lit lamps were set into the bottom. The lights of the lanterns were reflected in the water surface from above. No one was in the pool any more. Everyone was just standing around it. The sight of the dark silhouettes in the water reminded her how far below these people she was. Their estate had no parties, no flower meadows, certainly no pool, they did not even have a proper garden.

When Meia stepped all the way to the edge of the pool, she gave up her plan to make friends. She saw her reflection in the water and understood again that she was waste.

She had been fooling herself. Just because one person had a motive to be temporarily nice to her did not mean it was true for everyone. Friends did she want to make? Why would anyone want to be friends with a worthless person like her? What reason could there possibly be? The answer to that question was simple.

There was none.

Meia walked away from the pool again and looked for a secluded spot against the wall of the house where she would at least not embarrass herself any further. In the shade of a half-roof, she would no longer have to be seen. There she ate the last piece of her bread. Exhausted, her hand sank with the empty plate and her blurred gaze wandered over the courtyard. The guests were laughing, dancing and drinking. It was probably best to stay put for the rest of the feast. In the corner of her eye, she noticed the girl in the window behind her. Apparently she could not escape her. The eyeliner had not quite held. Her eyes were certainly red. The expression on her face did not make it any better.

It was her reflection that did not let her forget who she was.

.../ End Part