-Criticisms Make One Stronger-

"   is  a     t   l    k"  

A woman says vaguely and sighs, looking at one of the scarce avant-garde works set on a wall. Her robotesque tone stops a critic-like man in a twinkle of an eye passing nearby her. The woman gave him a subtle smile, and it made him frown for a brief second. Ignoring what he heard, the man shifts his focus to the work she was looking at. He then eyeballs the painting and gets closer to it with his sullen look.

"Well," he begins talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to the woman, "just putting a plain canvas on a wall is very recondite, isn’t it?” He raises his brow sardonically.

The woman turns her face around the man, and again, says.

"   is   a   a t  ul    rk"

He pretends not to hear the noise from the woman. Instead, he still gazes at the white work eagerly. It is as if trying to establish his ideals with his ambition behind his eyes unconsciously.

"Well, no matter who made this work, he or she should have put some nature on this canvas." He criticizes it so like his mouth is itching for discussing how the man’s taste is marvelous.

"T is  s a   a ti ul  ork"

The woman says, with her lips a little bit wider, staring the man's side face. He returns her stare, but he doesn't recognize what she is trying to state.

"If I were the artist," he goes on, having a swing at a pencil held in his left hand like pretending to make some brushstrokes on the campus, "I would leave the history of colors like putting bouncy rhythms here." After displaying his dreamy painting, he slowly starts to realize what the language-disordered woman is observing now. Her eyes are being caught by the painting on the campus obtaining one's concrete ideas.

"T is is a b a ti ul work"

The woman says so again. The work now has a lush forest and somehow darkish sky. Yet the colors on the scenery are put lightly as if they dance. It reminds him of Van Gogh's original brushstrokes.

"....and if there were a street lamp and a person like me?" The man says to the campus wonderingly yet with some expectation. Then he sees the moment that the continuous work by something still attracts the man in astonishment.　Perceptively, some of the trees on the campus are being shone in a lamplight in warm orange. There is also a man with a frayed gray jacket and convex glasses, who is just like the critic next to the woman with her shining eyes.

Looking at the art work on the wall, the woman finally says staunchly.

"This is a beautiful work."

The man hears her words and nods in agreement automatically.