Art Is Subjective

She loves it; he hates it; the children are indifferent. Max, the son, runs toward an abstract artist the others do not understand. Charlotte, the daughter, is reading a book, loving it that she has a bench. The largest art gallery in New York has no pull to her. Stepdad is pretending to like what their mother is oohing and ahhing about. A Monet exhibit where every painting is the same in dull colors. Trees, trees, trees, trees, trees, trees, trees. You can tell they are newlyweds. Art. Subjective in every possible way. It separates families, much like religion and politics. Many opinions, ideas, and feelings.