"Bloody teenagers," muttered Pierre when a group of giggling girls pointed at one of his paintings.
The painting portrayed a muscular giant crying. But all those girls could see was the giant's flaccid penis.
"The portrait artists are over there," he pointed at the group of so-called painters who were sitting in a group about 100 feet away. As he warded off those teenage girls, he went back to his unfinished work — a slender man looking gloomily over the river Seine.
Pierre's paintings were different. Unlike the various shades of Notre-Damme or "the sensuous women of Paris" that other artists sold on the pavement around him.
His paintings showed raw emotions.
They revealed how he felt when he was a kid, and all his classmates ridiculed him for being "weird". And the moment when his father banished him for pursuing art instead of their family business. The helplessness he felt when nobody appreciated his work. The disappointment on his face when he saw tourists flocking around those gaudy pieces of "art" that adorned the pavement a few feet away.
Pierre got up and gathered his paintings. He decided to go home — nobody would buy his paintings anyway. On arriving at his shabby home on Paris's outskirts, Pierre realised he had left behind his unfinished painting.
A couple of days later, when he crossed a narrow street in the Le Marais district, something startled him.
His unfinished painting was on the front page of the newspapers.
Connoisseurs praised it for the eternal sadness it conveyed. Others wrote glorious words about the magnificent use of colours that sucked the viewer in. No one knew who painted it. There were rumours that a body was found in the river the same day as the painting.
Therefore the painting was attributed to "the fallen artist".
A few days later, a stone monument was erected on the river bank dedicated to "the fallen artist". As he sat on a bench on the pavement, Pierre looked at all the people that had gathered around to take pictures of "the fallen artist".
He couldn't hide his smile.