There was this painter, the question of gender is not to be considered important, but for the sake of conversation and English dictation, let us imagine the painter as a man. He had not always painted, but one day decided, and it was when his painting was complete that he realized his potential. After a few more canvases he took his work to the street and began to sell his art. One person in particular was permeable in the business of arts, as their luxurious suit crumbled with each movement. The rich man's fingers pointed to one of the paintings and handed over a thick wad of cash to the painter and handed him a ticket to a Gallery, his Gallery. The painter was flustered with excitement and accepted the offer, and promised to visit his painting in the gallery when it was to open.
Time had passed, weeks, months, and it was when the moon was fullest in the skies of march when the Gallery was finally open. The painter stood in line with the rest, walked across the gallery and appreciated the various forms of art. In the horizon he noticed an aggressive group of individuals having a heated discussion over a particular piece. As he neared the piece he noticed it was his painting. Delighted, he listened to the conversations, but with slight interest.
"Its a beautiful dragon spitting eggs out of its mouth" came one lady.
"No its a tea house with a wind mill falling into the core of the earth" came another man.
Ultimately each had their own perspective and there was no common ground, after this was realized they had all acknowledged each others opinion but not the painter. They asked him, and he stood up with pride and simply said, "Its an elephant holding an umbrella".
Everyone laughed and scoffed, one person blurted "I kinda see it but, I'm not sure".
The painter was amused and said nothing in reply for the lights dimmed and all became silent. The focus of attention was to that of a gentleman in a suit worth more than the jewelery on each person. His black dress shoes clicked all the way as he approached the group with the painting. He looked it over and said, "Ah I remember this one, it is my absolute favorite piece and I found it off some random street artist."
His voice cleared the phlegm, or perhaps it was for dramatic affect as he noticed the edge of the eyes as they danced with him being the focus.
His shoulders straightened as he said, "This painting is of a giraffe choking in a small room". Everyone around him began exasperating ooh's and aah's. Congratulations was in order for he was able to bring everyone to a common perspective, his own. The Rich man than noticed everyone was admiring him but one. He directed a question to the one, "What do you see my fellow?"
The painter looked behind him to confirm the question directed at him and answered, "An elephant holding an umbrella". The painter's shoulders were slouched, his voice was nonchalantly dull, his suit was ragged and poor, and it generated a burst of laughter amongst the audience. The rich man laughed, and then turned his attention away from the scorn of the painter and to the comforting audience.
The painter was furious and spat on the painting, and stormed out, not before taking his painting with him.
The rich man was offended and ran after him, yelling, "someone stop that thief"!
The painter froze in his tracks, turned around and looked the rich man right in the eyes and said, "The only thief here is you". He then pointed to the rest of the patrons and gave them salutations of a vulgar gesture. The painting was left on the floor as he walked away. The rich man stood alone in a circle of people staring at the floor wondering what he could have done to make such a bloke so furious. Something about that man was so familiar... the painter! He remembered. Then clenching for his own throat, he felt asphyxiated. The walls were no longer so distant, and he found them caving in all around him. Hundreds of eyes poured all around him as he truly felt like a giraffe.
© Copyright 2016 Zebadiah. All rights reserved.
Book / Fantasy
Short Story / Fantasy
Short Story / Fantasy
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