"Yeah. That comes to a relief for me, as well," Joe smiled warmly as he shook her hand; he liked her already.
"To answer your question, Dawn," Joe burrowed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a bit with a sigh. He turned to look at his painting again. "I'm the former. I can't afford to let pride get in the way of things - plus, I feel like art should be shared. It's a shame when it's locked up in a room. Even if it's crap, it should be out there. Hell, it prolly makes other artists think 'hey, that's shit! If that made it here, I can make it' - you know? In that respect, at least it can make somebody feel something."
"And, you never know," He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe, on a blue moon, one of these idiotic art critics will actually say something that'll make me better. Or, more likely, I bump into more helpful, thoughtful people - people kinda like you, huh?"
"Yikes - sorry," He laughed, then nervously drew his hands from his pockets. "I'm kind of a shut-in these days, so I apologize if I'm freaking you out with my deteriorating social skills. I promise I won't go cutting off an ear or anything, though."