" She was sceptical about the painting when it was finished. 'It's nice. But it's not quite like the real thing.'
'But what would be the point of it being exactly like the real thing?'
The next day, he painted the same corner of the room as previously. Bea's response was as before.
He was amused. He painted the corner of the room over and over. She was never entirely satisfied.
When he had produced his hundredth canvas, she kissed him tenderly, suggesting he gave up. 'You'll never be a success... "

― Brian W. Aldiss , Three Types of Solitude