Riddle Me This

So, let's say you have a friend, let's call him Dr. C, who has become smitten with a tofu-bland creature who we'll call Maris. Maris fancies herself an artist and Dr. C thinks she's a great talent, mostly because he's thinking with something other than his brain. Dr. C thinks she's such a great talent, in fact, that he arranges a showing of her work--at his non-artsy place of business, no less. You're invited, so you go to the art show to be polite, and also to see Dr. C, because the only way you get to see him anymore is under Maris's watchful eye. To be supportive (hey, you're not opposed to art), you plan on shelling out a couple of hundred dollars on a painting. When you get there, however, you feel like you've suddenly lost the ability to read numbers. The price tags have a lot more zeros on them than you expected: Maris is asking thousands per mangled canvas. That's right--her work is a mediocre waste of paint (it's clear this was a hobby before Maris decided to take it to another level). Even if you had that kind of money, there's no way you'd pay that much for something you wouldn't hang in your basement. Dr. C, meanwhile, is running around playing host and beaming with pride as he asks people what they think. This is doubly sad because Dr. C actually does have artistic talent, which he wastes in order to be the person Maris wants him to be. Speaking of the artiste, Maris spends the night asking everyone if they found the place okay and fretting that the poor turnout is due to people getting lost in the elevator. You desperately try to think of something good to say about the work because you know they're going to ask. Then you see another painting over by the copy machine, only to realize it's actually a child's drawing (one of the employee's). You only manage to tell because it's not framed. You leave wondering what happened to Dr. C's eyesight and hoping you never get invited to another of these shows again.

A couple of weeks later, you get together for dinner with Dr. C--only to have Maris join you as well. You spend the evening listening to her try to figure out why nobody bought any of her paintings (except for her rich mommy, of course, who still only bought one). She comes to the conclusion that charging less might be a good idea. Hallelujah, you think, she's realizing that she's not quite at the level she thought she was. Maybe she can work at it, get better, be more realistic about what she's capable of and what she can charge. Then she says, yes--she'll make her paintings smaller and then charge less for them. She doesn't get it. She doesn't think her work is overpriced--she thinks people are cheap. And Dr. C nods his head like the brainless automaton he's become, telling his precious that it's just a matter of time and more shows and exposure. Next show they'll give people better directions so they won't get lost on the way over.

The only question left is whose head do you bang against the wall: his, hers, or your own?