27. Innocence Lost

Date Written: February 15, 2019

Date Posted: September 7, 2019

Characters: Veneziano, Wy

Summary: Veneziano has to review a painting that he doesn't particularly like.

Notes:

Veneziano wore down the skin of his lip as he looked at the abstract—was it abstract? modernity was a miracle in many ways, but the newfangled things they called art…—painting in front of him. There was a series of paint that streaked across the canvas, the colors were stark and meshed together in a way that was...hopelessly addicting to the eye. If he looked at it closely, he could see the faint brushstrokes that were reminiscent of a painter trying their hardest to focus and make sure that their painting could be the best that it could be.

"It's…" Veneziano grit his teeth as he tried to come up with an intelligible phrase or word in English that could properly display how he was feeling without truly saying how he felt. It didn't help that the person he was critiquing was a child Micronation who was looking at him with something akin to indignation in her eyes. "It's really emotive."

Wy looked up at him with a look that was eerily reminiscent of England. Her brows (truly unfortunate things) were furrowed deep into her pinched face, and her hands were clenched at her sides. She seemed to be vibrating in anger.

Clearly, that wasn't the answer she was looking for.

She turned on him like the tide menacing a shore. "You birthed some of the world's best painters and artists and that's all you have to say?" She marched forward to her painting and pointed at her masterpiece. "Critique me and tell me what you think of it!"

Oh, she was so demanding and forceful—quite like England.

Veneziano wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The look in her eyes was something that Veneziano did not want to wish on his worst enemy. He could tell from the way that she was vibrating in anger that she looked only seconds away from either yelling at him or kicking him. At this point, Veneziano would rather have the little child kick him. At the very least, the pain would be temporary whereas she could have inherited England's propensity for creative insults—those hurt like old war wounds!

"Well," he began again. He licked his lips in preparation to start commenting on her usage of color and brushstrokes, but the little girl beat him to the punch.

Quite literally.

She stamped her feet to the ground and made as if she were about to strike him. Now, any Nation worth their salt would have been fast enough to dodge said punch, but the Italian stayed absolutely still. He knew he wasn't being fair or truthful in his verbal appraisal of her work, but…but she was just a bambina! How could he let her think of what he really thought about her post-modern monstrosity that would not be as worth much because-because-because—!

Wy managed to get in his line of vision again.

"I know I'm not the best painter in the world, Mr. Italy, but I can assure you, I know how to take criticism."

Did she, really?

Veneziano had attended so many art exhibitions, he had taught at a few universities in his free time, heck, he was the Father of the Renaissance! Who cared if it was Firenze who had sired the greats, the best of Italian artistry? Veneziano was North Italy and North Italy did not discriminate when it came to art. If something called to his soul, then he would say that it was particularly well done and masterful. If something looked like crap, well then…It was the scum of the earth and wasn't worth to be dirt under Veneziano's designer shoes.

But those were adult painters who had time to hone their craft. They had tutors, teachers, experience to take the brush, the chisel, the pencil and create what came into their minds.

Wy was…

Wy is…

"You're young," Veneziano tried to say as gently as possible.

When the young girl made to strike him again, he easily caught her wrist and sat her down at the table, her eyes brimming with tears. He had long since forgiven her impudence.

"You're young," he said again. "However, you have so much potential and interesting characteristics that really make this piece of yours unique. You know how to contrast colors, how to orient your subjects within frame, and your technique is quite impeccable for your age. However, I am not willing to judge you based on my years as an artist. That would be unfair to you as a beginner."

"But I'm—"

"Yes, I understand that you've been painting your whole life, but so have I." Veneziano looked deep into her eyes and the Principality of Wy truly saw the age that was deep within his soul. "I've been painting ever since I could hold a brush, which was…" He huffed a laugh, too tired and too old to remember when he had first picked up the instrument and began to create. "Dio mio, I can't remember for the life of me. Remember, you were born less than two decades ago; your talent will flourish in time."

Wy looked away, still stubborn.

And so very much like England, he could help but think to himself.

"That being said," Veneziano paused to look at Wy's painting, a new perspective taking over his mind, "I really like your painting."

"Is it good enough for you to take home?" Wy clutched one of her arms while one of her feet kicked at some imaginary dirt on the floor. Veneziano tried his hardest not to coo at her adorable nature when she wasn't raging with indignation. "B-because—"

Veneziano knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder. The action had her tense, but she relaxed when she heard his next few words.

"I would love to hang this in my apartment." He squeezed her shoulder slightly. "Thank you."

They stayed in that position, Nation looking up at Micronation.

Then, Wy shrugged out of his hold and looked somewhere at a point beyond his shoulder. In true English fashion, she said, "You're very welcome and...and thank you for being honest with me."

Veneziano smiled.