The Artist

My last piece of art work for the year had to be dynamic. I couldn't seem to get past my mind block. A friend suggeged that I go downtown and look at some of the art work on show for the new art gallery.

It was a late Friday eveing when I found myself in a tiny gallery I had stood looking at a beautiful water color, I knew my art work was no way going to even come close. I thought this was a bad idea. Maybe if I bought myself some paint brushes that always makes me happy.

As I pushed the door open to my favorite haunt, it was basically a hole in the wall shop wedged between the new gallery and a clothing boutique. The store looked out of place. It was dark and gloomy today for some reason there wasn't anyone in the store. I thought there would be at least be one or two art students here this evening.

But, there was noone, and first I thought there was no sales clerk. Then from the dark inky black came a grizzled old woman. Her face was wrinkled, her thin white hair barely covered her head and her hands were all bent out of shape but, her blue eyes gave me the impression of that she hid a young woman somewhere deep inside of her. She gave me a look that seemed to reach down into my very soul. I felt my entire being go suddenly very cold as though I had turned into a icicle. Her smile showed her even white teeth. She reached out a knarley hand
and I shrank back towards the shelves behind me. "Dearie, what are you doing out on such a blustery day as this"?

When I didn't speak up she turned back to the counter and reached for a box of brushes. " Is this what you came for dearie"? Her eyes twinkled at me and threw me off. What I should have done was meade a bee-line for the door and not turned around to look till I got safely back to my apartment. That was a mistake that I was going to look back in the weeks to come and realize that I was so ignorant. After all, I had never seen this woman and the regular clerk was no where to be seen.

"You know I did come here for paint brushes, but I have decided what I need is some oil paints. I usually do water colors, but I have decided that maybe for my final project that maybe something completly different is in order. " as the last words left my mouth I thought maybe this is a dumb idea. Maybe I should stick with what I know.

The old woman didn't answer me at first she seemed to peer through me again. She nodded her head a couple of times and went behind the counter. "Dearie, I have exactly what you need. Here is my very own paints. I want you to use these paints don't think hard on your painting let the paints guide you and go with them. When your done with your project, just you keep the paints they'll grow on you", she gave a snort which I couldn't tell if it was a laugh or not and then she crept to the dark recess of the store once again. I stood for a second not moving. She hadn't asked for any money how strange. "One, thing dearie don't share the paints. They don't do well that way." then all was silent.

Back at home, in front of a blank canvas brush in hand I simply stared at the paints.
I slowly almost relucntly dipped the brush in the green paint. What to paint, let the paints guide me. Strange suggestion. .......

Hours or could have been days I couldn't have told anyone how it happened there was a painting done in front of me. A wild jumble of paints dark and light seeming to have not shape, but as I looked at it, I felt so good inside and thought I did this. I couldn't help the feel, the rush of warmth that spread through my body. I set the brush down on the stand and stepped back so this is what a artist feels. The accomplishmnent of finishing a piece.

My teacher said my piece was awe inspiring and said it must be put in the new gallery. My head felt like it was going to burst with all the compliments. A few people not many said they just didn't get the piece.

I began to spend hours painting sometimes forgetting to eat. My pieces, began to take on a dark side that seemed to grow and fester and wanted to be released from some dark place that seemed to be inside the paints and inside of me. At times, I almost could see the old woman in the shop. When I would look down at my paint brush in my hand with one of the paints intwiend in the bristles of the brush. My mind could feel like it could travel to the ends of the earth. Sometimes it felt like I was in hell itself.

One night I swore my dream felt so real. I felt like I was another person in another time. I was married with a husband that abused me. I felt the cold handle of a knife suddenly appear in my hand. I felt myself thrust it deep into his chest the blood spurted everywhere. It was on the walls of our bedroom and on my dress and all over my hands. I told the courtroom and judge that he drove me to it. He would beat me for no reason. I felt their sorrow over my predictment. I felt gladness well up in me, when I heard the "not guilty " .

Then the worlds seem to collide again and I was someone else. Older and again married but, this time wiser and wealthy in my own right. My husband, was dull and slow and I wanted out of my marriage but didn't want to have to give up my wealth and I would because he was the son of a judge who would make sure that I didn't get left with anything.This time the accident was a horse ride and the saddle was put on by me. My husband was the first to ride my new horse that I had just bought from Kenutucky. The horse would would recover. My husband was not lucky the doctor bles his said he died on impact and didn't suffer any at all. Well, that's good to know wouldn't have wanted him to suffer any . A flash of light and my world seemed to crash and turn again on itself. I woke up what a strange dream I thought or was it a dream. It felt so real.

Back at school my best friend was so upset the teacher was not pleased at all at his work. He wasn't going to pass the class. I thought what would it hurt to just let him borrow my paints just for the afternoon maybe. He could accomplish so much, just like I did I thought.

Back in my little room at my home I couldn't concentrate. My room seemed to quiet and hands couldn't find any comfort in the paint brushes my old paints just weren't doing the work or was it me. I couldn't function it seed that mind raced but, the rest of me was dead inside. I needed my paints back. They needed me they needed the safety of the thier own brushes.

Getting to my friends house was a blur. I don't even rember how I got to his bedroom door. I don't know if he denied me my paints because when I saw the paint on his brush. The blood rushed in my head and all I rember is that I stood over his body in disbelief. I hope he suffered I thought I hope he was in pain. how dare he take my paints and flaunt them on the canvas.

I know they found the body, we heard about it from the radio reports. They say it was a mad man. Reports say, I came up missing and they are searching for my body now. They will never find it because we are at the paint store waiting to be set free. All of us are waiting we hope that someday the right person will unlock the key to the paints.

No that would be the wrong choice of words I mean find a way to lock up the evil that is in the paints. They exist in the blood red of the paints and the murky blacks and dark jungle greens someday you will come and set us free we are waiting for you.