Chapter 21 #2
“She’d love you for saying that. But she only painted for herself.
She didn’t sell anything or have anything featured in a gallery.
I think it was her dream, though. To have that sort of recognition.
” And he sighed. “But I guess sometimes, we have to find other ways to make our dreams come true. Follow other paths.”
I hummed in agreement and moved farther into the room, staring at each painting as I walked slowly on.
And then I reached a portrait. The lady in it had long black hair that was threaded with delicate daisies, and she was smiling for the artist with her head tilted slightly.
She was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, a white sundress skimming her ankles, and her feet were bare.
In front of her, on the wooden floor, was a globe.
If I had to describe her look, I’d say it was bohemian. A free spirit.
“That’s my mother,” Alex said as he came to stand next to me. “She commissioned a local artist to paint that.”
“She looks so care free,” I commented, “Like nothing could faze her.”
“She was. She loved to travel, hence the globe in front of her. She was something of an anthropologist. She found people and their lives fascinating.”
“I think I’d have liked her.”
“She’d have loved you,” he replied, and my cheeks grew redder.
I turned to face him, staring for a second, lost for words as he stared back at me.
Then I watched as he swallowed, and in a gruff voice, he said, “I’m glad you like this room, and my mother’s paintings, but what I really want you to see is through here.
” And he gestured to an open door at the far side of the room.
A door that made fear cloud the pleasant haze that I was currently revelling in.
That was the room with his art.
I wasn’t sure my legs would move to take me into it. I was frozen to the spot.
Alex stalked towards the open door, then stood there waiting for me to join him.
Slowly, I stepped forward, noticing how his smile grew wider the closer I got.
And once I was standing in front of him, he said, “I know you felt the same way I did when I saw you at The Void. Some of those pieces really spoke to you, they touched you. I hope you have the same reaction when you see this collection. It’s something I’m really proud of.
And I know your opinion of the artist has been tainted recently, but I hope you can look past that and see the beauty in his creations. ”
He moved aside to let me enter first, and even though I knew what he wanted to show me, I still wasn’t fully prepared for the effect it’d have on me to see all these pieces together in one room. My breath hitched as my stomach rolled.
How could a man who embodied so much evil create such beauty?
I had no doubt he was evil. He’d told me as much himself. But glancing around the room, his art took my breath away.
“There’s a lot of his earlier work here. Some of it is a little rough around the edges, but the first time I saw a S.K.A.M. painting, I knew he was something special.”
My eyes didn’t know which painting to take in first, there was so much to digest. It was like a sensory overload.
“How did you discover him?” I asked, and Alex paused, taking a moment to think about his answer.
“He was a local artist.” He rubbed his chin in thought, then added, “I have to admit, I first saw his name on a wall of graffiti in the town. Not the tags you see when you’re on the train or in an underpass, but proper art, graffiti with meaning.
Then one day, I was at a local art dealers and I saw that piece there...
” Alex walked across the room to stand in front of one of the paintings.
“This was the first piece I bought. After that, I became hooked.”
I went to stand next to him to get a closer look at the painting.
There was the image of a little boy, only about three or four years old, sitting on the ground in a puddle, but the puddle was red.
He held an umbrella above him, to shield his body from the red raindrops falling all around him.
And if you looked closely, you could see that each raindrop had a knife hidden inside it.
The little boy had his head down, but his little fists held the umbrella handle so tightly you could see the strain in his hands.
“What do you think?” Alex asked.
“I think...” I paused, swallowing to clear my dry throat. “It’s really tragic. The little boy feels danger coming from every direction. The puddle he’s sitting in shows a lot has already hit him, but he’s still hopeful of protection from the umbrella. He’s still fighting.”
“You interpret it the same way I do. There’s been a lot of tragedy in his life. You can see it in all his work,” he said, referencing the fact that he thought the boy in the painting was S.K.A.M. “Take this one, for example.”
Alex stepped to the side to stand in front of another painting of a huge eye.
The iris was black and looked like shattered glass, and the pupil in the middle was red, with what looked like a droplet coming down from it, as if it was bleeding.
And hidden within the lashes were the words, ‘See No Evil’.
“It isn’t as sophisticated as the Follow Your Heart piece that was showcased at The Void,” Alex said as he stared at the painting. “But you can see the raw talent.”
“You were always going to buy that painting, weren’t you?” I asked, meaning The Void piece. “It didn’t matter that I chose it. You’d already decided.”
And he smiled.
“The Heart piece? Yes. I’d already bought it before you picked it out, but it was nice to know you felt the same way I did.”
“You’re really passionate about his work, aren’t you?”
I thought I might break his heart if I told him what his idol was really like.
Maybe he already knew.
The idea of him having an accomplice was still floating in my mind, but it couldn’t be Alex. It just couldn’t.
“He was a guy who was down on his luck,” Alex replied solemnly. “A diamond in the rough. All he needed was someone to notice him. To take a chance and give him the platform he deserved.”
“And you gave him that platform.”
“I helped. But his talent gave him the platform. These days, people are only too happy to shout about what they hate. When they find something they love, they’re quieter. I was just a man who bucked that trend. I shouted about him, and now, other people can see his worth too.”
I felt a ripple of nausea wash over me. He wasn’t the person Alex thought he was, and that was something I wanted to shout about, but I’d always been silenced.
My review, well, the words that Mr. Gold stained me with, had brought out the worst in the artist, and now, I was living with the consequences.
People might shout about what they hate, but shame? That stays silent. Even I wasn’t speaking up about it as much as I should’ve. And I wanted to. I’d tried when I went to the police, but they didn’t want to know. Nobody wanted to know.
“Have you ever met him? Do you know his name?” I asked, anxious to hear the truth.
Alex frowned, considering his response, and then said, “You know I can’t answer that, Emma. His anonymity is something he takes very seriously.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then. You know who he is.”
And if you told me who he was, you could help me stop what’s happening.
Alex paused for a moment, seemingly in thought. Then he said, “I may have got word to him, through his people, that you weren’t behind any of the articles in the newspaper. I thought it was important that he knew the truth... for your sake and his.”
I was surprised and grateful that he’d done that. It hadn’t helped, but at least he’d tried.
“Thank you,” I replied, despite not feeling thankful. He was still threatening me, after all. “Has he responded?”
“No,” Alex said, which didn’t surprise me. He hadn’t responded because he didn’t agree.
Alex proceeded to sing S.K.A.M.’s praises, telling me, “He started to do his live performances about two years ago. I was at the first one. Me, and about six other people in a park in the city. Now, he only performs to a select few, and those tickets are like gold dust. He’s an artist, a poet, a performer, a philosopher. There’s nothing he can’t do.”