The Artist

My attempt at a twisted story in the style of a good friend of mine.

I…was an artist once.  A painter.  And I suppose I am an artist still.  But watercolors, acrylics, and even oils, were too weak, too flat, too…two-dimensional.  I could have had my paintings displayed in museums, hung in the White House, and it wouldn’t have meant anything.  I wouldn’t have cared.  I threw colors onto paper, onto canvas.  Kindergarteners do that.  Big deal.  Don’t get me wrong, I painted pretty pictures.  Everyone said so.  “Beautiful,” “exquisite,” “talented…”  I heard these words often, but they echoed empty.

 

Then I met Nathanial.  The only word I have ever found to describe him is ‘ethereal.’  He had that sort of untouchable, undefinable…celestiality.  He turned my head, and he turned my mind over upon itself.  See, he was a different kind of artist.  Three dimensional.  Carvings.  Very delicate carvings, oh, you should have seen his work.  It stayed with you.  Nathanial really opened my eyes.  He was a genius.

 

I’m not sure exactly what brought us together, but I’m grateful.  He always told me it was my great potential that drew him in.  A moth to my flame.  As if I could hold a candle to Nathanial.  We met at a Red Cross blood drive, believe it or not.  We were both donating…not because we wanted to save lives, but because we liked watching the blood run.  It’s a fascinating liquid, don’t you think?  It’s life.  Precious red life.

 

Nathanial and I collaborated on a number of works during our time together.  I don’t remember how many, I lost track. He started me small, of course, but it wasn’t long before I was practically up to his level.   It was exhilarating, a high; the rest of the world was blacked out and the only thing that existed was our artistry.  We were a great team.  Our creations really left a mark on people, not like my simple paintings.  The knives in our hands darted fluidly, gracefully.  We worked miracles!

 

But then Nathanial told me he was leaving.  He said staying in one place too long made him anxious, nervous.  My heart was breaking, and all I could think about was how he had affected my life.  I couldn’t change his mind, that much was clear.  So I decided to give him the ultimate going-away present.  I would carve him.

 

I did it just like he’d taught me.  Every last instruction, suggestion, and piece of advice he’d shared with me, I incorporated into this very important work.  My tools were sharp and shiny, my hands precise and certain.  I started with the head, nicking his ears and nose into just the right shape, and slicing his wide sexy mouth.  The eyes I would save for last...he told me to always save the eyes for last.  I worked my way down to his strong hairy arms, running my knives across the smooth surface, and then in to the broad chest and flat stomach.  I was completely focused, no, even beyond focused…there was nothing else, nothing but the art, the art…  We shared this work, this art, we shared the essence of life.  We were covered in life, together, it was everywhere.  Precious…red…life…

 

When I was done, I washed my hands and changed my clothes.  I poured myself a glass of wine and critiqued my creation:  he was a masterpiece.  The student had surpassed the teacher.

 

 

So that's my story.  That's why I'm here.  They no longer call me talented.  Now all I hear is 'criminally insane,' and 'murderer.'  I never killed anyone, I turned people into artwork.  Three-dimensional, meaningful artwork.  The people in charge here don't get it.  They're mild, weak, and they have no taste....but at least they let me paint.

Reviews

[Doctor_When]

This was an interesting read. I enjoyed the flow and the character's monologue. Thanks.