Chapter 55: Unaware of the Beauty of Painting - Wolfe
"If you like it, keep it. If you don't, I'll take it back,"
Chuck said calmly. "I have plenty of these prints, and I'm not selling them. I don't need the ten grand."
"I love it... thank you so much."
Seeing that Chuck truly had no ulterior motives, Professor Alicia Harper hesitated for a moment before accepting it.
Artwork is valuable if you say it's valuable, but worthless if you say it's worthless—or, as Chuck put it, you could simply calculate the cost of canvas and paint.
Often, the incredibly inflated prices aren't simply due to artistic merit.
A friend casually sketching something and giving it as a gift—minus the gallery hype and auction house markup—is no different from bringing over a homemade casserole.
Chuck nodded.
Following Professor Alicia Harper's seating arrangements, everyone took their places around the dining table.
Beverly sat with little Sheldon on one side, Monica with Paige on the other, and Chuck took the end seat.
Professor John Harper sat cross-legged on the living room floor, clutching Paige's manuscript, completely absorbed in reading it.
Professor Alicia Harper was bustling around the kitchen, bringing out dishes.
Hmm.
Nobody was offering to help.
Beverly, young Sheldon, and Paige were all cut from the same cloth—unlikely to assist with domestic tasks. Chuck could have overcome his natural inclination to help, but considering that even a casual sketch might give everyone, including Professor Alicia Harper, the wrong impression, he chose to remain seated.
He simply appreciated her eyes, finding them a source of comfort and relaxation, helping to ease the sensory overload of his severe autism. Every time he attended her lectures, his evening training sessions for light and noise tolerance became significantly more manageable.
In his mind, Professor Alicia Harper was no different from a therapeutic tool or calming landscape; there truly were no romantic distractions whatsoever.
Of everyone sitting there, only Monica was both willing and able to help, and true to her nurturing personality, she was eager to assist, even taking initiative.
But right now her mind was completely occupied with the artwork. She had sat down next to Chuck, and despite trying to restrain herself, she couldn't help leaning closer. "Chuck, you know why people call me 'Monica the Art Lover,' right? I'm passionate about art too."
Chuck looked at her with polite interest, indicating she could share whatever she wanted.
His love for art was a remnant from his previous life, and after the personality merger, he instinctively gravitated toward art, especially painting.
But in his past life, he had been just an ordinary, average person with no real artistic sophistication. Specifically, this free-form interpretation of a master's style was, to him, nothing more than random brushstrokes.
Like a Tom Wolfe novel, there might indeed be profound layers to the work, but the deeper, more nuanced meanings were often projected by art critics and gallery owners who made their living from such interpretations.
What did the artists themselves actually know? They were merely the vessels for art, like blind men describing an elephant. The art interpreters believed they were the ones who could see the whole elephant from above.
This pedestrian perspective, combined with his inherited artistic inclinations, had evolved into what it was now: a pure love for the act of creation itself, the most genuine kind.
To put it bluntly, it was like a kid's fascination with crayons, scribbling randomly without any aesthetic sense, simply for the pure joy of making marks.
To put it more poetically, it was like being unaware of one's own wife's beauty—though certainly not in any pretentious way.
Monica claimed she loved art, but in Chuck's view, it was the conventional kind of appreciation—a reverence for art that was manufactured by artificially inflated auction prices. If someone didn't appreciate or couldn't recognize the value in something, wouldn't that make them seem unsophisticated and uncultured? That was the kind of forced appreciation most people had.
"You said you have plenty of copies... I'd love to have one too,"
Monica said softly, her cheeks flushing as Chuck looked at her.
"Sure."
The request was so straightforward, Chuck agreed without hesitation.
Seeing Chuck's immediate acceptance, Monica's face lit up with a genuine smile. Noticing Professor Alicia Harper approaching with another dish, she jumped up and said brightly, "Let me help you with that."
"Are you just making copies?"
Paige watched Monica head to the kitchen and looked at Chuck with a knowing smile.
"No."
Chuck shook his head.
Copying was something his previous self had done, but now, as a pure hobby, he naturally created original works, painting freely whenever inspiration struck.
"Could you paint a picture of me?"
Paige smiled at Chuck. "Just the way you see me."
Chuck studied Paige for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I'll do it when I have time, but I can't promise when I'll be able to give it to you."
"No rush, take your time,"
Paige said with a smile. "I like the anticipation."
Monica, returning with food and overhearing this conversation, suddenly felt a sharp pang of regret cross her face, her eyes filling with disappointment.
Damn it!
Why hadn't she thought of that?
She should have asked Chuck to paint a portrait of her as he saw her. That would have been incredible. A reproduction of a master's work couldn't compare to something like that.
As for the fact that the master's reproduction was worth over ten thousand dollars, she couldn't care less. She wasn't in this for monetary value. And even if it was worth more, it was a gift from Chuck. Would she ever consider selling it?
"John, honey, put that down for a minute. Come eat first,"
Professor Alicia Harper called to her husband, still buried in the manuscript, after serving the final course.
Professor John Harper didn't respond, completely engrossed.
"He's always like this... Let's start without him."
Seeing his complete absorption, Professor Alicia Harper gave the others an apologetic smile. She picked up the wine bottle Beverly had brought and automatically asked, "Who's drinking tonight?"
"I don't drink!"
"I'm not allowed to drink!"
"I don't drink!"
"I do!"
Beverly, little Sheldon, Chuck, and Paige all responded in turn, leaving Professor Alicia Harper looking surprised.
"I'm the designated driver,"
Monica, the only other person who could potentially drink, voiced her concern.
Professor Alicia Harper started to put the wine bottle back.
"Monica, have a drink with Professor Harper,"
Paige suddenly interjected. "Don't worry about driving. If we have too much, Chuck can take us home." She looked at Chuck and added, "That's okay, right?"
"Sure."
Chuck agreed.
"Well, maybe just one glass?"
Monica said hesitantly, meeting Paige's encouraging gaze.
"Just some casual drinking."
Professor Alicia Harper smiled with relief.
Living in this kind of household with this kind of husband, she sometimes needed a drink to unwind.
So there were six people at the dinner table, but only Monica joined Professor Alicia Harper in raising a glass. As they drank, Monica and Professor Alicia Harper began chatting more animatedly, their voices gradually growing louder, which made little Sheldon increasingly annoyed.
What kind of trivial, mindless topics were these?
Thinking about this, he felt he had a responsibility to correct this deteriorating dinner conversation and introduce some intellectually stimulating discussion topics.
(End of chapter)
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