You’re at an art auction. It’s a crisp sunny afternoon in May and there’s about a dozen other things you’d prefer doing. Starting with curling your fingers around the throat of the greying man who conducts this show.Nevertheless you owed a friend the favor of company and so the art affictionado that she is dragged you along to be bored by the ooh’s and aaah’s of splashes of colour that closely resembles the vandalism of a kindergarten class.
Now your knowledge of the arts is pretty basic. As far as you’re concerned accounting was a career path and art; a hobby that paid poorly and was mostly rife among bohemian Europeans who frequented street corners and seldom sanitized.Furthermore as far as you recall majority of these artists are dead and it’s kind of disturbing that you’re in a room full of people bidding to buy the immortal remains of a deceased soul.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, a more contemporary artist: Pinx Picasso”
The name has a ring to it so you sneak a glance at the announcer’s podium fully braced for chagrin and to you utter astonishment there stands, not a crackling canvas, but a young girl, very much along the lines of you age with a pixie cut and ripped jeans. Her fingers are caked with yellow paint* and she wears a grin that could make this ancient place seem fit for revolution.
You’ve been drawn to attention and you greedily absorb her work. The pieces are striking. What strikes you most is not her scintillating mind but the passion she wields even through the infinite strokes that caress the images. When they ask her about her muse she throws her head back in a seal-sounding laugh which swiftly sends the layered ends of her hair swaying like a skilled brush along a blank surface. Still supporting inappropriate bouts of laughter among this esteemed audience she says she’s never been one for metaphors she’s merely illustrating the inside of her imagination.
You’re intrigued that someone of this magnitude exists and has managed to unknowingly convert your generalization of the arts. From here on out when you think of art her masterpiece comes to mind and you wish you had met her sooner or been able to make her acquaintance. I know I’m grateful for her friendship.
_Quixotic Novelist
**My reference to yellow paint: Vincent van gogh would eat yellow paint because he believed it would make him happy as yellow inspires joy. Now Pinx doesn’t make me want to consume a the of sunflowers but she does add a jovial jest to every day and I cannot convey how instantaneously she transforms a day of stressful, swamping work to one of sunshine.
Quixotic Novelist 