What these ponies call ART. [Splat]

[Simon Cowbell]

Simon Cowbell was in a sour mood today, and he didnt care who knew it. He'd woken up late this morning, couldn't get his hair right for the longest time, his cleaners had given him back a wrong suit, His inn room was too hot, his breakfast was too cold, Some upstart stallion had given him a queer look as he stepped outside, and it was raining, of all things to do for his first day in Ponyville. Not that it mattered much, he had an umbrella and hands to hold it, but still! He had just come from Canterlot, where his latest critiquing round of the finest restaurants in Equestria had come to an abrupt end a week early when he described the boorish manners of the diners who frequented an apparently royalty-patronized resturant. His description of a certain Unicorn Stallion's haughty behavior was too precise, and everyone had recognized Prince Blueblood even though his name and title were never even hinted at.

The prince himself was furious, and even though Celestia had declined to get involved (a graceful way of staying out of it, thought the minotaur with grudging approval) his newspaper editors had thought that it might perhaps be best to get Simon out of Canterlot until things cooled down a little. That is the reward one can expect from ponies for speaking a little plain truth. After all, if it wasn't true, no one would have recognized the prince. Simon though to himself with a bitter sigh.

Ponyville was turning out to be an even bigger disappointment than he'd expected, and he wasn't expecting much. It was too small to have more than a few places to eat, places to go, places to shop, and things to do. He could not run a series on it's restaurants, as there weren't enough of them to last more than a few weeks. The same held true with most of it's shops, which were sad little market-stand affairs. Charming, perhaps, in a rustic sort of way, but not in the least review-worthy. So instead, he was going to do a series of critiques on the best Ponyville had to offer, and then sum it up, gastronomically, fashionably, artistically, touristic-ally, and any other way he could think of, as an entire whole. he didn't expect to be impressed, but then, his most popular reviews were in the places he was least impressed.

And that, so it speak, is the mood he was in as he approached the establishment that Ponyville prided as an Art Gallery. He tried the door, found it locked, though it was a few minutes past opening time. He knocked politely, and as he waited, he withdrew a black peacock quill and a notebook, upon which he jotted his very first impression Careless Keeper. Doors not open on time. He sighed.

[Splattershade]

Splattershade didn't usually get visitors so early. After all, the novelty of an art gallery finally being in town had worn off a little while ago. The paint-splattered unicorn had been busying herself with sweeping and cleaning up the gallery all morning. She wasn't expecting the minotaur, or even knew he was in town, she had actually started attempting to carve a sulpture the day before, and since her studio was on a balcony-like loft above the gallery, plenty of rock dust had found its way down below. With a satisfied bob of her head, the unicorn set aside her broom and dustpan in a closet, adjusted her beret, and trotted to the door.

With a gentle magical glow, the door swung open, and Splat was surprised to see that there was somepony there... Actually, she was doubly surprised that it wasn't a pony at all, but a big minotaur. Then the final wave of shock set in when she recognized just who this was. She had grown up in Canterlot, to a family that grew exotic and rare flowers and plants to be used as ingredients at the fanciest of restaurants. So naturally, stories of Simon Cowbell made their way to them. And now here he was... in the doorway of her art gallery. She could already feel her legs wobble beneath her.

"S-sss-s-si-sim...." She stammered. "W-welcome to the P-ponyville Art Gallery S-s-s Sir! Please, have a look around...." She held out an inviting hoof. "I'm... Sp...Splattershade, Artist and H-head curator..." That was something she never thought she'd say. She never thought of herself as a curator, in fact, she utterly hated the idea. But, she technically did all the jobs a curator did, and this was technically a gallery, though her own work were the only pieces she could get her hooves on for the time being. And besides, with THE Simon Cowbell, every little detail mattered. She gave her head a respectful (if also slightly fearful) dip, and slowly backed away...but not too far as to miss out on what would happen.

[Simon Cowbell]

Simon Cowbell tucked his quill behind his ear and his notebook in the crook of one arm. Nodding to Splattershade, he politely shook the drops off of his umbrella outside the door before closing it and setting it with great care in the entryway. No need to drip all over the gallery, if the splattered appearance of this pony had anything to say about it, there would be enough drips there already. He shook the proffered hoof, there seemed nothing else for it, but he withdrew a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hand in case any residual paint had been transferred to him.

"I am Simon Cowbell" The minotaur began, grandly, looking down his nose with a calm, indifferent expression as he put his handkerchief away . "As I can see by the expression on your face, you are aware. " His expression never changed, but there was a slight smugness in it now. "I do thank you for your welcome. Seeing as you recognized me, it's more than I expected. You said you were the head Curator and Artist, Splattershade, am I correct?" He wrote that down in his notebook. He moved to the first piece and studied it a while, making occasional notes. "If you don't mind me asking, as both an artist and a curator, what kind of formal art training have you had?"

He moved to the next painting, but hardly gave it a glance before making a small note in his book and moving on to the third. What that was supposed to mean, good or bad, he left the poor Splattershade to try and guess. He stayed a while at the third, studying it from different angles and even up close. "I understand that the majority of pieces in this gallery are your own work, is that right? You must feel pretty confident in your abilities." Simon made it a point to avoid being aggressively hostile during his visit. It had taken him only once to learn that once a Pony knew a critiquing session wasn't going well, they would do everything in their power to end it early! He couldn't (or wouldn't) bring himself to actual friendliness, but he was careful enough never to let them see his thoughts ... and especially the notebook he was writing in!

[Splattershade]

OhNoOhNoOhNoOhNo!

Splattershade knew he could only be here for one reason, and let him get right to work. She trotted close to his side, ready for... well, she actually wasn't ready. She didn't even know Simon had left Canterlot, let alone that he would be coming to her gallery. If only she had known she could have at least prepared a little. She found herself rapidly glancing from her painting to his face, back to the painting, back to his face. Painting. Face. Painting. Face.

Finally, a question brought a little interruption to her worrying. "Oh! Ummm... Not much I'm afraid. I just sort of... discovered my talent for Art and fell in love with it!" she gave a cheery smile, knowing that he wasn't here to hear the full story of how she got her cutie mark, and of how unsupportive her family was. After a moment, she seemed to realize that made her sound... uninformed and claiming all talent for her art. "Oh! But I have done plenty of reading and studying of my own... just nothing formal."

She moved to the next painting with him, staring at it a moment... realizing a little too late that he had already moved on! What? Was he already done with this one? Was it really that bad? She looked at the painting again. This was one of her favorites, and the first one she painted here in Ponyville. With a worried look she continued in silence.

"Confident? Oh yes, very. I wouldn't have bothered opening the gallery if I wasn't" She gave a half-frown, trying to think of something that might help his opinion of her... or at the very least, his mood. "But I am looking forward to getting my hooves on some other pieces. But so far, I'm the only pony that's really contributed."

[Simon Cowbell]

Simon nodded. That was pretty typical for those would-be artists. Many ponies who had no formal teaching but decided they had that mysterious thing called talent- and who couldn't get their paintings into other galleries- often opened up their own under the guise of providing 'culture' to uninformed, rustic, or backward towns. Simon often compared it, mentally, with the way one adds 'culture' to milk to create cheese.

And in both cases, 'culture' was just another term for 'rot'. Simon sighed.

Still, she wasn't as bad as some. Simon had seen some truly horrendous abominations pass as 'art' lately, and fetch far too much at auction. In his opinion, such trash should cost only the price of canvas and paint, with a nominal fee extracted for forcing Equestria to bear with it. At this point he would have put Splat in the next class up. He paused and made a note to work that into his review somehow, if he could. He made only a passing glance of the next four paintings, but stopped for the one after that.

"I take it you do commissions to help keep afloat- but do you ever sell, trade or auction these gallery pieces?" Simon glanced at her face and decided it was time to throw the pony a crust. "That is generally how a gallery attracts new pieces. I think you would benefit by sending some of your work to Canterlot. People would see it there and come here to see more. Other artists will want their work seen and send it here to be displayed."

Simon didn't say so, but he knew that if this artist were as nervous as she looked, she'd grab at the hint of almost-praise he'd offered and relax a little. That would put her off her guard and might reveal something else he could use in his review. Confident, huh? Well, he'd see how confident she was when he was through with his review!

[Splattershade]

Splat finally smiled at the topic of commissions. She hadn't mentioned anything, so it's clear that he thinks that she's good enough to have someone request her work! "Oh, I love commissions. I'm actually working on a mural commission for the town's dress shop-" Splat was about to go on, but stopped herself. It's not that she doubted her new friend's abilities... but sending an angry critic to her shop where her work would probably be publicly insulted? That would probably bring a quick end to their brief friendship.

She tried her best to continue. "But... I don't really sell my pieces. Not actively at least. I mean... if somepony were to realy love one of them, and made a good offer..." Her voice drifted off, watching the minotaur barely acknowledge a few more of her pieces! She felt like she may as well have gulped down a gallon of paint.

"Oh, and Canterlot...." She started, her voice dripping with... well, it was somewhere between nostalgia and disgust. "I don't think I'd be sending any of my work there." She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. She just trashed on the main location there Simon did his reviews. there was no way that she could possibly explain herself out of this. But that certainly didn't stop her from trying. "Well... Let's just say there's a reason I left home to live here..." she smiled sheepishly, silently hoping that he would either interpret it as a good thing, or at the very least lack the interest to lack. She wasn't really one to spill her life story to people who barely knew her or cared.

[Simon Cowbell]

Simon couldn't help but smile. Give a little hint of praise and most ponies would sing like birds. He didn't know why Splat felt the way she did about Canterlot (though he could have made any number of guesses, good and bad) but he didn't care, either. Her reaction was more than he could have asked for. Vague, wistful, and yet, disgusted. The minotaur would be able to put any kind of spin on the statement that he wanted. A most useful remark for him, and unfortunate for her. Perhaps he would write something like:

Although forced to lower herself so far as to take commission work to pay the bills, making her nothing more than a commercial artist in the end, The haughty Splattershade would never go so far as offering to sell her real art, the stuff she actually cares about. Nor would she ever condescend to send it to a gallery in Canterlot, where it might have to compete with other pieces by artists of real talent. Oh, he liked that. He took a moment to write that down.

Not that he blamed Splattershade, of course, if she was disgusted with Canterlot. He spent most of his time there being equally annoyed with it. The prissy ponies, the almost tasteable air of satisfied smugness, and the elite society that was almost impossible for a talented minotaur, or even pony, to break through without strong connections... A city where the only thing that mattered was wearing the right clothes, belonging to the right family, and most of all, knowing the right people. It was disgusting.

Simon was about halfway through the gallery now, and he slowed down for an entire row of paintings, seemingly intrigued by them. "I notice you do a lot of paintings of the night sky and scenes in late hours, rather than the day, or even during the rising and setting of the sun, which is a favorite time of many artists. It's an unusual subject. Do you find particular inspiration in the dark?" Simon asked, sounding genuinely curious.

[Splattershade]

Splattershade seemed overjoyed now. He was smiling! And he was finaly slowing down to appreciate some more of her favorite works. The colorful unicorn felt like prancing around the gallery in relief. That is, she would if it wouldn't interfere with Simon's clear air of curtness.

Now this was a question she wanted to answer. She was glad that somepony... or in this case, some minotaur finally noticed. "Oh, nightscapes are so misunderstood. Ponies seem to forget that there's so much color, even at night. But all that people see is light and dark. How boring, how unoriginal.

Ever since Luna took the night back... It's just been beautiful. Like this... most artists just do starts as little pricks of white. Nothing but pointless dots to fill up the canvas. But I see her work for what it really is. My night skies are homages to a greater artist, like all the greats did before them. Even when I don't show the sky, I can see all the colors in the darkness. That's the kind of thing I want to paint. I want to show everypony the worlds they never saw before, right in front of their eyes. I want to show them dazzling wonders they only had to look for."

She seemed caught up in her explanation, describing it with a fondness that easily expressed her love of her work. "Sorry, I overdid it a bit, didn't I?" She apologized, with a slight blush that showed through her paint-splattered fur. "It's not my only inspiration, of course... just a strong one."