“This is supposedly art?” Elaine asked, pointing to a canvas in front of her.

“Supposedly,” her companion said, checking his travel book. “I see where he’s coming from…”

“Oh, please, Andrew,” Elaine said, shaking her head, “This guy just probably put this together to get a quick buck.”

“You really think that?” Andrew asked, hazel eyes wide and incredulous.

Elaine exhaled huffily. “Yes, I really think that. From my point of view, splatters of paint and wilting sunflowers on a white canvas is not art. A five year old could do better.”

“You know, many people pay lots of money to see this,” Andrew said, and Elaine rolled her eyes, but he continued. “And besides, others do find meaning in this form of art.”

“Yeah, yeah, and my rabbit can do the foxtrot,” she said, pulling him along. “Let’s get out of here and go look at some Titian paintings.”

Andrew sighed inwardly. Did she really detest his work that much?