The weather was nice and the breeze was comfortable.  I was about to leave my room to make another flower drawing at Mrs. Malchovich's garden.

All of sudden the door flew open and all of my crayons and sketchbook were scattered on the floor. Standing at the door was "The Gallery Exclusive" guy, panting hard and raising his eyebrows.

"Hi. Have you seen my plumeria drawing at Everybody's coffee?"

Picking up my crayons, I greeted him. But the Gallery Exclusive guy stepped on one of my crayons I was about to pick up. 

"Of course I saw that. "

His voice was calm, but his eyes were wide open with anger. I could sense he was not happy about my plumeria drawing.

"Everybody said it was my best drawing."

I said , wondering why he looked so angry. 

Holding his rage, the Gallery Exclusive guy slowly began to talk.

"Your first work was an American flag with 49 stars. I thought you were against Sarah Palin and didn't want to include Alaska in your flag. Another one was "Fourth of July Fireworks;You were my dream." It had powerful messages to all the American nationals.I was impressed. I spent everyday getting touch with the art dealers and the magazine editors in LA and NY to promote your works. I was even trying to set you up for a solo show. But now you are drawing flowers in your backyard. How am I supposed to market that?"

He painfully shook his head.

"That's plumeria at Mrs.Malchovich's garden.They're blooming now. Do you want to see?"

The very moment I said that, the rage he was holding exploded.

"Your works have to be about America! Your works have to have political messages behind it to bring awareness to people in the United States! That's the reason I decided to represent you. Where did your controversial messages go? "

"Huh?" 

"What happened to your concept?"

"Huh?Concept?"

I was lost and confused, but the Gallery Exclusive guy went on.

"You should know I can find millions of artists who can draw flowers better than you do. Just because I put you on the local newspaper once, don't think your drawings were technically good enough to be on the newspaper. I did that to market your works for you. We are working together. Until I put some of your works on the market, please stay with the same theme.  Draw something about America and put more controversial messages in it. How about police brutality this time? I hate LAPD. Go for it! Burn your passion on paper!"

 

I was frightened by his rage and loud voice. Most of all I was frightened with  not being able to comprehend what he was saying to me.When he saw me just standing still with no clue, he changed the tone of his voice in a soft and gentle way.

"I discovered your talent and I want to help you. But without your cooperation, I can't promise you if I can market your works. I gave you Vet-prescribed Chicken Variety Pack, didn't I? You earned it with your works. If you want another Vet-prescribed food, you have got to draw what I need. If you can't, you don't get fed any more."

"I don't feel comfortable to draw what you need for Chicken Variety Pack."

What I said triggered his anger and made him raise his voice again.

"If you make all my efforts and time waste and breach my contract, I think I am entitled to have all the Chicken Variety Pack I gave you BACK!"

He spitted his words at the door and stamped his feet on one of my crayons. I saw it smashed into pieces.

 

I was crying by then. I never thought drawing could bring such horrible feelings on me. It was always supposed to make me feel good and happy.

My voice was shaking with fear, but wiping tears with my hand, I tried to tell him how I felt.

"When Don bought me a sketchbook and crayons, he told me to enjoy drawing.I draw because I enjoy it. I draw because people smile at my drawings.That makes me happy. That's why I draw. I thought my drawing made you happy. But you are not happy. You liked my drawing because of your marketing. You can't force me what to draw for your marketing. I thought you were a nice person to give me Chicken Variety Pack, but I don't need to get fed from you any more. Please go."

The Gallery Exclusive guy didn't say anything to me. He just stood still at the door and watched me crying, and then leaving me a big sigh, he walked away without turning back.

 

"Are you OK?"

"You should tell Don. Don can beat him up."

Lisa and Kenny, who were watching this sight, ran to my door. Lisa wiped my tears with her sleeves and Kenny pretended to punch an invisible person.

My girlfriend helped me picking up all the crayons scattered all over the floors. Some of them were smashed into pieces, so we couldn't even picked them up. 

I decide not to draw today. Instead I cried for another two hours, feeling scared and wondering if I'd ever feel like drawing again.