Ahh, the anger of an artist who sees the work of another preferred to their own. Very human, very genuinely told. Then the skinny, mousy person whose appearance becomes unimportant when she takes up the brush and seeks to express the full dimension of human feelings. Quite conceivable that the paintbrush leads either to an unjust weapon or to healing self-knowledge. I like your choice of words, such as her lips not being as red as her anger.
You don't have to like a person yourself to love their art, do you?