An artist paints two artworks.
Artwork number 1 and artwork number 2.
The artwork number 1 he painted at random, without sense, without inspiration He is at that moment quite sick of all that is called “creating”. He’s tired, poor and hungry. He wants to prove something hence why he painted the painting number 1.
Artwork number 2 takes several months to paint. He spends his soul, his knowledge, his love in it. He let his tears wet the canvas; he let his smile caress the paint, he put his own self in the art.. Artwork number 2 is his soul, his masterpiece.
Before the exhibition day come, he hung the painting number 1 and number 2, side by side. He takes a step back, looks a long time to his project and with knowledge of the aesthetic, he knows that the artwork number 1, anyone can paint. Artwork number 2 is its opposite; it requires not only knowledge of colour and composition, but also feel and love to achieve the effect.
He takes two white sheets and writes two different prices.
On artwork number 1 he wrote a very high price which is only the richest in the society who is able to pay. On artwork number 2, he puts a ridiculously low price that even the poor could buy it.
The opening day came, people came and looked, and the paintings were subject to the observer assessments of value.
Mostly of the comments was about the artwork number 1
What a masterpieces, what a feeling, what a fantastic artwork made by a great master and so throughout the exhibition showed the public the artwork number 1 almost all of them undivided attention.
The artwork number 2 doesn’t receive many words, no roses, and no interest. The silence etched into its framework. It stood beside the artwork number 1, almost invisible, unseen.
After the exhibition deadline, several put bids on the artwork number 1.
The price exceeds the total bid, eager voices curls. I want this masterpiece.
No one put a bid on the artwork number 2.