The Strange and Mundane World of Molly Cule

Thirty Days of Text – Debuted

September 3, 2008 at 23:02 pm (Short Stories, Thirty Days of Text, Writing) (Art, arts festival, debuted, humour, satire, Short Stories, Thirty Days of Text, Writing)

In the centre of the empty stage stood an easel, the artwork obscured by a draping of red velvet. Everything was prepared for the gala opening of the inaugural Kanimma Winter Arts Festival, a mere five hours away.

A crack of light cut down the aisles between newly upholstered seats and as the heads of the Festival committee entered their voices boomed into the empty hall before disappearing into the vast ceiling above them.

“Are you excited yet? Oh, God, I can feel Art happening, I can feel it in my blood and it feels beau-ti-ful, darlings, just beautiful!” babbled Cyril de Gruun, flinging his green cashmere scarf over his shoulders and opening his arms wide to take in the stage before grabbing the hand of Stephanie O’Hanyon, the artistic director. “Oh, Stephanie, darling, you should be so proud. This whole event, this is all down to you my dear and I tell you, nobody could have done it finer. You are an absolute gem, darling! Now, where’s our little artist boy? I have just got to see this painting!”

As the party ascended the stairs to the side of the stage the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the gloom upstage. A young man, barely more than twenty, walked slowly towards them over the boards, his face overly thin with jutting, angular bones and his blond hair androgynous and highly styled. His skinny blue jeans ended in a tan pair of cowboy boots and a T-shirt declaring “Fuck Art” peeped out from a vintage patchwork jacket. With his hands pressed together and his fingers tapping at his lips, the way he looked up at them from beneath his bony brows he looked like a cross between a tramp and an elf.

This was Jason Cross, local boy and art prodigy, now studying at the prestigious College for Visual Arts at Burton University in the city. As local boy turned potential international arts star, he had been commissioned to paint a work to be displayed in the Kanimma Performing Arts Centre to prove that not just city people had “culture”. $1 million dollars of State Government, private donation and local council money had been set aside for the commission, not to mention the time and money spent bringing luminaries, critics, academics and gallery owners out into wheat belt for the grand unveiling. 

“Aha! There you are, my lad!” said Cyril, grabbing the boy by the shoulders in a sideways hug as everyone gravitated towards the covered artwork. “Alright then, let’s see it! The big debut!”

Raising his eyebrows, waiting for approval from Stephanie, Jason stood by the painting, holding the sheet of velvet that fell in folds nearly to the floor. Pausing to look at each member of the committee, he finally pulled the cover in a sudden flourish.

For a moment, there was complete and utter silence. The kind of silence that makes your skin creep and your heart freeze up as you wait for someone to break it. “You are fucking kidding me,” muttered Pauline Debrovic, theatre director, local property owner and perpetual pants suit wearer, as everyone struggled to comprehend what exactly was in front of them.

But really, what was in front of them, sitting there on the easel waiting to be presented to the world as Kanimma’s contribution to the world of art, culture and higher pursuits, was really quite simple: what they had just paid $1 million dollars for was  nothing more than a blank piece of paper sealed in a frame-thick slab of glass.

Eyebrows arched and face poker-straight, Jason waited, savouring every moment . . .

Permalink Leave a Comment