Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROXY
I didn’t expect this.
Subject: RE: Portfolio Submission
Thank you for your submission. Your work is intriguing and very unique. I'd like to discuss representation and a potential solo exhibition.
Would you be available for a call tomorrow?
Best,
Sarah Vance
Curator, Void Gallery
Brooklyn, NY
I read it three times.
No name in the subject line. No "Dear Roxy." Just a response to an anonymous email submission. Because that's all Sarah Vance has, an anonymous email address I created specifically for portfolio submissions. No name or contact information. No way to trace it back to Roxy or anyone else.
Then I walk out of the darkroom and find Dom in the kitchen making coffee.
The coffee maker gurgles in the silence.
I texted him with the news about the reply from Sarah while he was at work and come home to talk it through with him.
Sensing my presence, he looks up and moves over to me, taking me into his arms.
“You good?” he asks.
“I’ve actually changed my mind about disclosing who I am, you know, living in the open.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just realized that this curator has no idea who I am as I never gave her any of my personal details, no name or address. I even used one of my fake email addresses.”
"So she doesn't know who you are," he says.
"No. Just the anonymous email. So what if I keep it that way? Make it a thing, you know, the edgy artist who wants to remain anonymous, to only be known for her work and not who she is. Then, that detective will definitely have no way to find us or link anything to us. Because I still don’t exist."
"Huh, that’s a pretty good fucking idea. Do you think the gallery would be cool with not meeting you in person?"
"I can make sure it’s only over the phone, I can use my burner.
Who knows, it may be a convincing selling point.
Gives an air of mystery. And the cherry on top will be that we can relax, because even if my work was noticed and the locations linked, this Sarah Vance would have nothing to give them.
I can set up another bank account in a new name for just the art stuff, even link it to another country. "
"I can help you with that. To be honest I feel more comfortable with this. So you do it over email or phone if you have to. But you don't give her anything that hints of who you are. No personal details, nothing that connects the work to Roxy Brennan."
I nod slowly, understanding the strategy and feeling immense relief.
"The artist stays anonymous. A mystery," he says grinning, and the tense atmosphere that’s been lingering for days dissolves. "So that’s the plan. The work will be public, but you’re not."
“This is gonna work, baby. I’m so excited,” I say, eager to get started.
I message Sarah back to explain why I want to remain anonymous, and to my surprise she is on board right away. She likes that it could give a sales boost. We arrange to speak over the phone as email would not be beneficial with so much that needs discussing.
I use the burner phone Dom picked up, which is untraceable and disposable. Sarah Vance's number appears on the screen and I press call. She answers within two rings.
"Hello?"
“Hello Sarah,” I say and don’t give any introduction.
"Is this the artist who submitted the portfolio?"
"Yes."
"Great. Thank you for making time to talk. I'll get right to it, I have to say your work will certainly appeal to a lot of buyers that I know who love art that crosses boundaries. The crime scene photography, the human studies, the environmental pieces and drawings, truly breathtaking."
My chest swells with pride.
"Thank you."
"I want to show this work, so I was thinking a solo exhibition, full curation with a small opening night with press and collectors. Twenty to twenty-five pieces total. Can I ask, do you have representation currently?"
"No."
"Would you be interested in Void Gallery representing you?"
"What would that involve?"
"It’s a standard gallery contract. We handle curation, installation, sales and press. You provide the work. We take forty percent commission, you keep sixty. I'd preferably like to start with the solo show in around six weeks from now if you can make that timeline work."
Six weeks. Six weeks to prepare.
"I can make it work," I say. "But I have conditions."
"Okay."
"As I mentioned in my email, I don't do public appearances. I don’t consent to artist talks, interviews or press photos. The work is public, but I'm not."
"That's... unusual, but I think we could make it a selling point. It will certainly attract the press and any social media interest. They love a good mystery, a reclusive artist. The only issue is that some collectors do like to meet the artist."
"The work either sells itself or it doesn't. I'm not interested in being a personality or anything, I just want to share my vision."
"Alright," she says. "I can work with that, but I'll need some way to communicate with you. Email? Phone?"
"Email only after this, with the address you have."
"And your name? For the contracts, the catalog?"
I hesitate, unsure whether to give her nothing, stay completely anonymous, or give her just enough to make it legitimate.
"You can use R. Bush for financial purposes, but RB as an artist," I say.
"That's all you need." I decided to use Bush after the singer Kate Bush. Don’t ask me why, she just happened to be on the radio when Dom was trying to think of names to use for another bank account.
He managed to get me set up with another ID too. I love that man.
"RB, okay, and banking details?"
"I'll provide banking information via email and everything can be handled remotely. I trust you to keep this confidential."
"This is very unconventional, you know."
"I know. But those are my terms."
"Alright. Let's do it. I'll send the contract via email. You review, sign and send back. We'll handle everything else remotely. Sound good?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Welcome to Void Gallery, RB."
We hang up and I stare at the burner phone in my hand.
R. Bush, the artist known as RB. Not even a full name, just initials and a mystery.
Week one is preparation.
The contract arrives via email. I read every word, looking for traps, requirements for in-person meetings, anything that would expose me. It's clean. Standard gallery representation, commission structure, exhibition timeline. No requirement for the artist to appear publicly.
I sign it as "R. Bush" and send it back.
Sarah responds within a few hours. Perfect. Let's talk about the exhibition.
We communicate entirely through email now. She sends questions about the work, the themes, the narrative. I respond carefully, revealing nothing personal.
What drew you to crime scenes?
Death is the most honest moment. I document it because it's sacred.
And the people in the sketches?
I’m always aware people are more expressive and open when they think nobody is watching. It’s the perfect time to capture true emotion.
She loves it.
This is perfect for the press materials. Can I use these quotes?
Yes. But no attribution beyond RB.
Understood.
The portfolio, however, does need to be expanded. She wants twenty-five pieces and I have twenty-six, but it needs refinement.
I spend twelve-hour days in the darkroom and at the drawing table, preparing the work for public viewing. Dom helps with logistics, like shipping arrangements, insurance, banking setup for the sales payments. Everything handled remotely, nothing traceable back to our San Diego address.
"You're really doing this," he says one night, watching me work.
"I can’t believe I have this opportunity. But I feel way more relaxed being anonymous, knowing this way Chen will have no way to locate us, even if she did pick up on the art. I think if we had stuck to the original plan, my nerves would eventually get the better of me.”
“You’re right. Besides, the mystery makes you more interesting. More valuable."
"And untouchable."
"Yeah. That too."
Week two, and the pieces ship to New York.
Professional art handlers arrive with custom crates.
They pack everything carefully, including my most precious piece, "Toxic Devotion.
" We decided to include it now that I don’t have to show my face.
Sarah is convinced this will be the biggest seller and we would be crazy not to include it.
So, that’s it, I’m done, twenty-five pieces, headed across the country to a gallery that will show them to the world. And I won't be there, well, that’s what Sarah thinks.
"I want to go," I tell Dom that night. "To the opening."
"But you said…"
"I know what I said. I won't appear as the artist, but I want to be there. To see what happens and hear what people say."
"As a guest."
"As nobody in particular, just another person in the crowd, an out of town artsy lover."
He studies me. "You want to hear them talk about you."
"I want to hear them talk about the work, about who they think I am. What they think the mystery means."
"That's dangerous."
"So is everything we do."
I think he will be stubborn and refuse to take the chance. But he doesn’t.
"Okay. We go together, I’m sure with some fancy clothes we can blend in. But we don't talk to anyone and don't draw attention. Remember, we’re meant to be ghosts."
"We're always ghosts."
Three weeks later and Sarah sends installation photos. The gallery space is transformed. White walls, track lighting, my work hung with professional precision. They look so much better presented like this. I can’t quite believe it and have to pinch myself that this is my work.
The crime scene polaroids are clustered on one wall. The human sketches on another. The random location prints creating a beautiful transition between violence and grief. She understands my work and what I was doing as she has managed to present it as I wanted. A story of life.
And finally we have "Toxic Devotion" on the far wall, alone, commanding the space.