With the sun low in the sky, the air was still hot and thick. Ken drives over to Bryce Gallery. It’s on the edge of downtown, in a building that used to house Bryce Paper Company. The company still owns it, but they build a new factory and warehouse, closer to the highway, and converted this place to a gallery so Missus Bryce could have a rotation of up and coming artists visit and sell their wares. The parking lot is about half full, so Ken parks his sedan and gets out. He pulls on his suit jacket and straightens his tie before he goes in. He is greeted by a blast of cold air. When they remodeled the building, they added an expensive heating and cooling system. It helps to keep the art from getting damaged by being too hot or too cold. Ken squares his shoulders in his jacket, happy now that he wore it.
He looks around and notices some of the wealthier families moving from painting to painting. Ken looks at a black and white one, near to him. It looks like someone took a paintbrush and made one long continuous scribble, covering the whole page. The small card next to it says “Trance”. Ken slowly shakes his head. He heard something about that, how some artists would either take drugs or put themselves into a trance and then paint whatever they saw. Some would later add different colors and textures but some, like this one would keep it true to what they “saw”.
He continues moving through the main room. There are lots of paintings that are just shapes and colors, giving the impression of something from a nightmare.
“So, what do you think, Mister Cooper?” A familiar voice says from behind him.
“Well Mister Huddler, or should I call you Theodore in this setting?”
“Theodore works fine here.” He responds extending his hand in a greeting while holding a champagne flute in the other.
Ken shakes his hand, “Then you should probably call me Ken. As for my thoughts, I don’t know yet.” He releases his grip and looks for the table with the champagne. “Let me get a drink and look at a few more pieces.”
Theodore nods and sips his glass. “The most interesting pieces are in the side gallery.” He slowly moves along, as Ken grabs a glass and follows.
“Ken, you were in Europe during the war. Did you have a chance visit any of the galleries?”
Ken sips his glass and walks beside Theodore. “In the “great galleries”? Not really, but I got to see a fair amount of art when we confiscated what the Fascists and Nazis had taken as loot. We also had to arrest some of our own guys who were trying to take ‘trophies’ back to the States.” He says in a matter of fact tone.
“I didn’t think that the Nazi’s liked ‘modern art’?” Theodore says with a mild tone of surprise.
“They didn’t. Officially they preferred “realism” and the “old masters”, but that was the Party line. That didn’t stop their officers from acquiring various pieces throughout Europe and holding on to them in private.”
“Fascinating. So what do you think of the surrealists?” He asks as they turn the corner to an alcove where more paintings are displayed.
“They are different. It still takes skill and….” Ken stops mid-sentence. The walls are filled with paintings of various sexual organs. There is a banana with its peel that’s a foreskin, peeled halfway down, facing an erect penis with its foreskin that is a banana peel peeled halfway down, facing each other like looking at each other through a twisted mirror. The small label reads “Circumcised Banana”.
The painting next to it has a plate with an oyster shell on it, but in place if the oyster is a vulva with a visible clitoris at the top. It is titled “Vulva on the Half-shell, with Clitoris”
From there each piece is more bizarre and twisted. Breasts, Mouths, Penises, Scrotums, Vulvas, Labias, Rectums, and body parts that look sexual even though it is uncertain what they are.
“You were saying Ken?”
Ken sips his drink. “This takes skill, attention to detail, and imagination.”
“So you think he is good?” Theodore asks.
“I want to meet the man first. These are good, but there’s something that’s wrong.” Ken says.
“What do you mean?”
“Was he in the war? And for which side? What was done to him to bring out such a fascination for twisting and changing sex organs?” Ken says as he looks at another painting that is a mouth screaming, while unidentifiable holes are being filled from below. There isn’t a true body connecting the lower half to the mouth, just shades and colors giving the rest of the body vague shapes while the mouth and holes are given almost pornographic detail.
Ken hands Theodore his glass, “Please hold this for a moment.” He then takes his notepad from his pocket and his pen. He quickly writes down the names of the most graphic and disturbing pieces. Then he closes the book and takes back his glass.
“Theodore, what do you think about them?”
He smiles and points to “Circumcised Banana” “I was thinking of purchasing that one and putting it in Ramon’s apartment.”
Ken chuckles at that. “Ok. I’ll give you that. And if you really wanted to give a gift to the Missus, she or Hillary might enjoy ‘Vulva on the Half-Shell, with Clitoris’. But I would advise against getting some of these others. I feel like there is a lot of pain and trauma in some of them.”
They walk back into the main room, and Ken sees a extremely realistic painting of a lamp but in place of the light bulb is a fish that is glowing brightly. The title of it is “How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb…” Ken smiles at the joke.
“Theodore, if you are buying these for friends and acquaintances, I like that one.” He says pointing to it. Theodore looks at it. “The detail is marvelous, and the colors are very realistic.” He then looks at the title card. “That’s clever too. Maybe if I like what you tell me about the artist, that might be your payment.”
Ken sets his empty glass down on a tray with other empties. He then writes the title of that one in his book too.
“Speaking of the artist, isn’t he supposed to show up and take questions?” Ken asks.
Theodore looks at his watch. “He should be here soon.”
At that, the large double doors at the end of the hall open and out walks a man in a white suit, flanked by a tall blond model wearing a vibrantly colored evening gown. The gown barely conceals her ample assets. Ken notices that the barely visible pink of her nipples is similar to one of the paintings that is all full round breasts with hard pink nipples. “Yes that must be his model.” Ken says in a low tone.
Trailing behind is a thinner woman wearing a very plain skirt and jacket. She closes the doors, following behind with a clip board and pen, then blending into the crowd. Ken make a quick note of her. “Manager, or assistant, maybe?” He writes down, and turns his attention to the artist.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Messieurs, Señoras y Señores, Thank you for coming out tonight. I am happy to be in your beautiful city as I begin my tour of the United States.”
He moves to the center of the crowd, “Let me introduce, my inspiration and my Muse, Isabeau.” The curvy blond does her best to curtsy to the crowd while still keeping everything barely covered.
After the applause dies down, the artist motions to the crowd. “What questions do you have?”
A young man in a rumpled suit and pork-pie hat holds up his hand. “Messieur Pauline, I’m Zach Thompson, from the City Paper, how long before you and your collection go to the next city on your stop?”
“Mister Thompson, we will be here only a few days. Just long enough for people to see my art and maybe some of your wealthier citizens, to purchase some of it. Next question.”
An older gentlemen raises his voice “Speaking of cost, how much do you charge for some of these?”
“It depends, Sir. Some of them are one of a akind, and others I have painted multiples of, each one numbered and signed, but still original.”
The older man continues, “Well then for example, that one? How much is it?” he asks pointing to a piece that looks like bars of color raining down on broken landscape. Ken can’t read the title of it, but makes a note in his book.
“That, my good man, is one of five that I made. Each one of them goes for $500.”
There is a murmur moving through the crowd.
Ken raises his hand. “Mister Pauline, what inspired the works that you have in the alcove?”
He smiles, “Ah those. Well if you look at my lovely muse, you can see that Isabeau, inspired them.”
Ken cocks an eyebrow, “She was the model, but there is more to it than that.”
“Of course. I stared at her. Looking at every inch of her beautiful body, and was inspired. Can’t you see how every curve and angle fills you with desire and lust?”
Ken nods, and writes a few more notes then moves deeper into the crowd.
He sees the small brunette, who is taking notes. He walks closer to her but she looks up and then moves away.
“Ok. Not tonight, you’re working.” He says to himself, though still curious as to her identity.
After a number of questions, Charles Pauline says, “Ladies and Gentlemen, It is getting late and we will have the general public in tomorrow afternoon, so Lena will take down your information if you are interested in purchasing.”
The small brunette is now by the front door with her clip board still in hand. Ken writes down “Lena” and then puts a question mark next to it.
“So, Ken. What do you think of him?”
Ken puts away his notebook, and leans into Theodore, “The works are real, but I don’t think he’s the painter. Hold off on buying until I can check a few things out.”
Theodore straightens up. “Really? Should I…”
Ken shakes his head. “Let’s keep this quiet. It’s just a hunch. But there is something about ‘Monsieur Charles Pauline’ that’s just not right.”
(I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 3. Be Seeing you….)
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