Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

I. Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

Cosmic Inference No. 6 was the title of the painting. Although to the unenlightened, such as myself, it could have been named Collected Slop on Canvas and it wouldn’t have made much difference. What I was looking at was simply a large red smudge of paint lying underneath two streaks of blue and yellow spread upon an otherwise blank white canvas.

“Inspiring piece, isn’t it?”

A man in a dark suit had approached me from behind- possibly some well-to-do art collector by his manner. His nostrils widened as if he were analyzing myself as one of his own newly acquainted works. Not wanting to answer since I would be caught between telling the truth and being supportive to the artist, I took a large bite of a canapé and nodded, attempting to back away. Avoiding him was not going to be easy.

“Ah, the selective use of primary colors signifies the simplicity of childhood; the large vortex of red is the freedom of immaturity developing into the mature becoming barred by the restrictive bands of adulthood. Wonderful analogy- brilliant genius,” the collector spoke in an admiring fashion.

Joshua Dencher, a genius? I hardly noticed although I had lived with him for most of my life. My brother’s opening night at the Casa deOrlet Gallery was what would be deemed a grand success. The great white cavern of a room teemed with critics, collectors, society’s elite, and the art-enlightened. Martini glasses clinked among the soft mumbles of polite jabber mish-mashed with the clop-clop of Italian leather shoes upon the highly polished floor. At the center of the room, a tight huddle of bodies was smothering their praises upon the featured artist. One boisterous voice, accented from a backwoods descent, echoed louder than that of the rest.

Out of the crowd, it began to vibrate off the floors and walls, “Doug-e-boy, you made it!”

The familiar blue wooly rug bobbed amongst the sea of heads as it made its way towards the edge. The crowd suddenly parted in half as if he were Moses incarnated. Joshua Dencher, dressed entirely in black matte vinyl, beamed his trademark impish grin. I responded back by waving my hand at his direction and then met him halfway.

“Enjoying the collection?” he asked.

I paused then offered, “Very-uh- colorful?”

Joshua placed his hand upon my shoulder which meant only one thing- he wanted a favor from his twin brother. “Are you still planning on that weekend fishing trip of yours? Life lately has been a whirlwind. My creative muses per-se need a vay-cay.”


For the past two years, I had set a date each month for fishing on Winter Creek at our late father’s cabin. As art and socializing were my brother’s passions, mine was enjoying the natural rugged outdoors- solo. Slightly cringing at the fact of sharing my peaceful time with my antithesis, I nodded painfully attempting a weak smile. Maybe it will be fun- I tried to convince myself.

A comely brunette in stilettos edged her way towards us carrying a stemmed glass of sparkling water in each hand. She smiled parting her cherry red lips. As the woman neared, Joshua placed his arm around her waist. Both of us had look upwards to talk to her since she was over a forehead taller than my brother.

“Doug, this is Cassie.” He nodded to me now grinning more childishly than ever.

“So- this- is- your- twin,” she mused giving me an odd glance narrowing her brown eyes. “Strange, he looks so much like you, yet so … different.”

Yes, that was me- Douglas Dencher, polar opposite of the famous artist. No vinyl, blue hair nor flamboyant tastes.

“Pleasure to meet to you,” was my weak response.

Altering the spotlight back onto him, Joshua remarked, “Isn’t it amazing to have so many come out just to view my paintings – MY paintings! One came all the way from Tokyo. Can you imagine?”

“Well, a critic from London said your work was delightfully smashing,” Cassie prattled tossing her long hair off her lanky shoulder.

As the two babbled on, my mind began to wander off until their voices faded into a soft hum of crickets in the distance. It was our last trip together at Winter Creek; we were two college freshmen on spring break. I was running breathlessly in circles around Josh attempting to enliven him up. His eyes were partially hidden by his curly mop of hair, but this did little to mask his sour facial expression.

“Well, I guess we could …” he responded in a whisper of hesitation attempting to brush a frizzy curl from his view.

“Great! Beat ya to the creek!” I shouted tapping him on the shoulder, then darted barefoot through the thicket of trees discarding my shirt along the way.

I leapt in fearlessly emitting a large whoop as I landed into the cool clear waters. Minutes later, Josh emerged from the forest dusting the dirt off his shoes. Discarding his socks and leather footwear, he slowly made his way to the water’s edge.

“Come on in,” I shouted beckoning to him. He looked at the creek warily as if he were assaying it for chemical hazards or man-eating vermin.

“Is it safe?” he asked childishly pinching his nose and toeing the water at the very outer lip of the creek.

“It’s water – Stop acting as if it’s a vat of boiling acid!” I playfully remarked giving him a splash.

Placing one of his large toes into the river, he made his slow dramatic entry. He held his breath while waving his hands above his head. His face drained of color; his eyes bulged and his mouth held agape. Complete panic.

“What’s that I’m stepping on? Oh, my- Go- a snake, a snake- its- its…”

Quickly but quietly I swam over to him, his body now stiff as a board.

“I can’t move,” he mouthed panting. Behind him was a floating twig that had gotten caught underneath his shirt and was apparently rubbing against his back. After pulling it off thus freeing the stick from its cotton trap, the nineteen-year old art-major jumped wildly towards the bank. Fleeing into the forest flailing his arms he ranted, “I told you! I told you!” I stood in the creek as his voice resounded from the wood.


“Oh, yes. Fun, fun, fun, fun- This trip will be much fun,” I muttered to myself- for the last “fun” must have somewhat audible for both of my companions had stopped conversing and turned to look curiously at me. Quickly I rubbed the glaze from my eyes and smiled back.