Louis' letter to his elder brother, expressing his disillusionment with his idol.
A Handwritten Letter
Dear Brother,
How have you been these days?
Regardless of how well you've been, I've been feeling terrible.
Well, sorry for taking over a month to reach out to you. Your constant motherly concern always bugs me, like a swarm of mosquitoes at a summer watering hole. Forgive the venom seeping through my pen at the moment, but you once said, "Perhaps you can rely on your brother a little bit," right? So hold off on the complaints and hear me out.
I got obsessed with a painter's work a while back — I'm aware that you know all about it, but just listen up. So, I ended up writing some critique essays about it, using my usual analytical techniques — the same ones that those idiots in the field love to criticize as "peeking into the author's privacy and making it public." Yeah, that "psychological topography" method.
Seriously, those old farts really should learn from their late mentors how to shut up and stay calm. They say things like, "Only lunatics want to reveal themselves unreservedly." But we'll see. When their coffins are rotten, which one of those stupid heads won't be exposed nakedly?
Anyway, I digress again, so let's circle back to the painter. After the publication of my second essay, the comments section was a total pandemonium — praises, criticisms, criticisms of those who praised me, criticism of those who criticized me, and even random trolls and onlookers joining the frenzy...
But guess what? Perhaps you don't know it yet, the painter, she... actually praised me!
Considering my "reputation" in the community, genuine praise without sarcasm or flattery is rarer than springtime in Snowland. And her words, though simple, were genuinely inclusive.
I may have gotten a bit carried away... but you know what? The idea of having a friend with similar tastes and interests is like having an endless supply of sugar cookies right in front of you! (By the way, the butler told me you've been overindulging in sugar lately. You'd better clean up your act before I get home.) So as you know, moving to Penacony was a hasty decision, I admit, but my passion for art is the only fire in my life. And don't worry, Claudia was with me on this journey.
Oh, hold your laughter for a moment! I didn't realize that I had traveled all the way to meet her and ended up leaving before the tea had even cooled. The great painter I admired turned out to be just a housewife with an empty mind and no ambition. All that elegance and goodness of heart? Just a facade, nothing but superficiality!
I used to hold this great painter in high regard, but now, her name only reminds me of a worn-out brush. It only comes to life when dipped in the pigment of inspiration, but once the oil is washed away, it becomes pale, stiff, and worthless!
Still, I managed to be polite to this so-called "talented" lady, and I didn't even say anything mean! We had a polite chat, a polite goodbye, and, believe it or not, she even politely invited me to write another review of her new artwork.
Ha, ha, ha! What a perfectly "polite" meeting from start to finish!
So, Lester, I'm not coming home this month, or the next, or the one after that. I'm taking Claudia on a trip to the neighboring galaxy. I need to forget all about this annoyingly worn-out brush!