I used Picasso as the comparison as I thought his work was thought of as being different and obscure? Perhaps I am wrong though. The paragraph is about me going in for an important audition.
Trembling, I opened the door to face the scorching sun leering through the glass sliding door onto the clinical white staircase. I glanced up the spiralling stairs into the gloom that lay ahead. The hallway was covered in paintings that - unless some kind of abstract art - were the pride and joy of a young class of wannabe Picassos. As I climbed up the staircase, the view of the regimented car park suddenly seemed very appealing indeed...
"You ready?" the stewardess asked politely.
I gulped and took a deep breath "Yes," I whispered, struggling to sound confident.
It was my only chance to ever gain a place in this orchestra: next year I would be too old. As I climbed the stairs constantly telling myself that there was nothing to worry about, although not truly believing it, I realised that if I didn't give it my all, all those months of practising would have gone to waste. Once the door was finally in sight, I uttered some last minute words of encouragement under my breath before reaching out and grabbing the handle.