He stood looking at the painting.
It was a perfect example of modern expressionism. He knew that he was looking at so much more than just a painting. It could be seen that the heart and soul behind the hand that held the brush was being captured in these strokes, these moments of pure, unadulterated expressionism. Here and there he saw a deliberate splash of vibrant colour. He felt that the structure of the piece gave the viewer a sense of being granted permission to glimpse the random foundation on which it was built. He considered the fact that each prominent form was in perfect balance with its surroundings, and that the choice of colours were deliberately placed to catch the eye. He marvelled at the deliberate juxtaposition of brush strokes. He considered the fact that there was a brave projection of both unrestrained proportion and holistic composition, and beneath it all, a sense of experimentation.
He considered it to be a true masterpiece.
I know she’s only five, he thought, and the fact that she’s my daughter has a lot to do with it… but a masterpiece is still a masterpiece, right?