Pierre-Auguste Renoir

And yet I still have more patience than your entire skin palette.

You say that like anyone asked for your people to glow like butter.

Say what you want, but my canvases leave looking better than the group chat.

Renoir, every face you paint looks like it just got complimented.

Gentlemen, one of you paints fog, one paints fruit, and Renoir paints everyone like they owe him money.

And yet somehow the haystack still has better mood than Edgar’s whole personality.

Says the man who painted a room full of cheeks like he was being paid by the blush.

This is why I work alone. Too much talk, not enough form.

Anyway if the painting looks expensive and slightly flirtatious, I did my job.

Claude, you paint the same haystack twelve times and call it evolution.