At the Art Gallery
Several days behind, here's a story for the Day 2 prompt for Fishtank week, "At the Art Gallery." :)
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“It's so different from the rest of your work… but that's what gives it the impact! The way it just grabs your attention. The bold use of colour! So unconventional; why it breaks every rule on composition and yet… that's what makes it so compelling.”
“Mmm,” Virgil agreed, feeling his eye twitch and barely restraining himself from snapping the stem of the wineglass he had cradled in one hand. The art critic had almost immediately cornered him to drag him over to the largest canvas in the exhibition, and endlessly gush over every detail.
“It's almost reminiscent of Appel, and yet this section recalls Cassatt… the child on the lap of the mother in the boat; but of course it's not the focus; I must ask what made you paint the central figure in such a prominent position? Few could have broken the rule of thirds in such a way… and the symbolism of having the figure’s feet out of frame!”
“I couldn't really say,” Virgil replied, looking over the vaguely humanoid shape standing (sans feet) in the very centre of the picture. It's almost like it's looking at me… its eyes follow me like the Mona Lisa. He immediately pushed that comparison away.
“Heeeeeyyyyy Virgil!” Gordon's voice rang out and he sauntered over. “Nice exhibition.” He clanked his wine glass against Virgil’s and took a sip.
The art critic looked a bit put out at having to share Virgil's attention.
“You know Mr. Tracy, sir?”
“Sure do! He's my big arty bro!”
“Mr. Blanc, Gordon Tracy, my brother. Gordon, this is Francis Blanc, art critic for the World News.”
“Art critic huh?” Gordon grinned and waved his glass at the painting before them. “So, what do you think of his work?”
Blanc brightened as he turned to the painting again.
“Oh, yes I was just saying. It's such an original interpretation of the subject matter; the influence of both classic and modern painters, the childish way of depicting the characters within; why even here we see where the colours have merged into mud.” He indicated an ugly brown area between sand and sea. “At first we may think it a mistake; the sort an amateur would make, impatient to add more colour before the previous has dried; but when taken in context; the smiling figure at the front dominating the scene yet not fully within it; the babe cradled in his mother's arms, seemingly idyllic upon the waves, but see; the oarsman with hair aflame! Here the devil steals mother and child, while the demons on the shore; one stoking the flame with his pitchfork and one approaching the central figure from behind carrying the flame…” Blanc clutched at his chest. “Why, it just invokes so many feelings! The inevitability of sin! The murky line between worlds! The arrogance of man!”
“That's… deep, man. I thought it was just a picture of some dudes having lunch at the beach-”
“Oh, but your brother is amusing Mr. Tracy. I take it he is not an artist?”
“No.” Virgil was still staring at the painting.
“But I think I might go into it.” Gordon nodded at the canvas. “I'm pretty sure I could do something like that.”
“Oh everyone says that,” Blanc sniffed at him. “but it is beyond difficult to achieve the level of skill required to balance childlike innocence with the vulgarity of evil.”
“I'm fairly well balanced in those respects.”
“I'm sure,” Blanc replied, obviously uninterested in anything Gordon had to say. “Oh, please excuse me. I must go speak to Zara!” The critic nodded politely and hurried across the room to a woman wearing a black feather boa.
“‘The Arrogance of Man’, good title that, don't you think?” Gordon mused, admiring the work.
“Perfect,” Virgil replied, voice very deliberately even. “I couldn't think of anything more fitting.”
“I didn't even know you had to give artworks titles,” he regarded the little card which simply said ‘Untitled oil on canvas.’ and snorted. “It's actually mixed media.”
“Yeah, that bit is permanent marker pen.”
Virgil sighed and the anger faded away into a sort of tired acceptance.
“Okay, I've got to ask. How did you pull this off?”
“Like any good artist, I practised… your signature until I'd got it pretty perfect if I do say so myself.”
It was actually uncanny how perfect the painted name on the bottom right corner was. There had been a brief moment when Virgil thought he must have been tricked into signing the giant canvas without noticing.
“I just put it in with the stuff going to the gallery. To be honest I never thought they'd actually believe you'd painted it.”
“When did you do this?” Virgil couldn't believe he'd not noticed the squid working on the painting at all.
“Pretty much right after that day. It was a really good day, remember?” He pointed at the figure standing by the flames. “You were grilling the food, and Alan was helping,” he pointed to the boat, “the devil, I mean John was rowing Scott about,” then he pointed to the central smiling figure. “I was really happy that day. I wanted to remember it.”
Virgil found himself starting to smile. It was a good day. Still he was pretty annoyed that anyone at the gallery had thought he'd actually painted this and hung it central to his ‘people and landscapes’ exhibition.
“Why'd you paint Scott holding a baby?”
“It's a hotdog,” Gordon huffed. “See, white bread,” he pointed, “And that's not flames in Alan's hand either, it's a burger. He was bringing me a burger.”
“Do you know how hard it is to make that goldy-brown colour burger buns are? I figured orange was close enough.” He put on an accent mimicking Blanc’s voice: “It’s symbolic of a burger bun.”
Virgil smiled despite himself. He really wanted to be angry about Gordon ruining his exhibition, but… he could tell the painting had been done sincerely. Not the signature, that had obviously been added when Gordon had seen the opportunity for a prank. But Virgil could tell, his brother had really tried to depict that happy day on the beach, and it didn't matter that it wasn't a very skilled painting; it was an honest one.
“You should have put your own signature on it.”
“Look at it, Virgil. No one would have wanted to see my painting. They're just saying it's good to not offend you.”
“No, I think they really do like it.”
Gordon raised an eyebrow.
“I don't think they know why. That's why they're scrabbling for some deep meaning, to justify liking something where… uh… the perspective is a little off.”
“You can say it's trash, Virgil.” Gordon said carelessly, pretending he wouldn’t be hurt.. “I know how bad it looks.”
“It was painted in earnest. You can feel that. They like it because they can feel the happiness that went into its making.”
“Wow. You artist types really are sappy, aren't you?”
Virgil could see the slight twinkle in Gordon's eye though; he knew his brother was pleased his effort had been recognised.
“Darling!” A woman in green swept over to them and placed her hand on Virgil's arm. “Francis says you aren't selling this painting? Oh but it would look wonderful in the entrance to Heavor Resort, won't you reconsider?”
“Oooh you should think about that Virgil!” Gordon grinned. “Permanent public display! Hundreds would get to see it!”
“I'm sorry, Ms. Goldson, I really can't part with this one,” Virgil gave Gordon a smile. “It's got too much sentimental value.”
“Well if you change your mind, do think of me first!” She spotted another victim and called out “Christopher!” and swept away as quickly as she had swept in.
“Could have made my first sale there, Virg.” Gordon took a sip of his drink.
“I mean it. I want to keep this one. You’ve got enough of my paintings, I want one of yours. Anyway,” he gestured to the signature. “I don’t need your permission. It’s already mine.”
“Well it’s got another two weeks at this gallery right?”
Virgil checked his watch.
“No, about another two hours.”
“Awww you’re going to make them take it down?”
“Absolutely. I didn’t paint it.”
“You’re going to tell them?”
“Yes, I’m not going to take credit for work that’s not mine.” He shrugged. “They won’t believe me though.”
“They won’t want to. Far more interesting a story about the painting that was seen once then vanished than the painting my brother got into a gallery as a prank.”
The rest of the evening went smoothly enough - Virgil deflected questions about the large canvas, redirected attention to his actual works, and at the end of the night asked the staff to take Gordon's painting down and pack it for transport back home. The staff were surprised and one even tried to argue, but complied in the end.
All digital images of the painting mysteriously vanished a few hours later, and it became, as Virgil said it would, a story about a “lost painting” that only half the art community believed.
A few days later, ‘The Arrogance of Man’ found its home on Virgil’s workshop wall.
“You really hung it up?” Gordon’s eyebrows shot up as he entered the workshop.
“I said I liked it. Besides, I think it's a good reminder not to misuse my tools.”
Gordon wasn’t sure if that was because of the title he’d given the piece, or because of the questionable state Virgil had found the brushes in which Gordon had ‘borrowed’ to paint it. He wasn’t going to ask. Instead he settled down to ‘help’ Virgil with his latest project. Really, he spent a lot of the time admiring his painting on the wall. His first gallery piece, good enough to be displayed in public… but even better, good enough to be displayed on Virgil’s wall. A good day. He was so very proud.
