“aren’t we there yet” – I asked my agent. He raised a finger and shook it to signify no; patience was not really my strong suit but I held her sister in with bated breath.
This was my first big sale, I have been a narrative artiste for over eight years, telling stories with every stroke of my brush. Pain, love, truth, art, romance, hate, envy, gluttony, i left no stone unturned.
I would get lost for days, taking breaks only to eat, play with my son, bathe and have sex with my husband. My life was a boring routine, right up to this moment, my first big sale.
An art collector has seen one of my works displayed in my town’s museum and wants to meet the hand behind the brush. He chose one of my old pieces that he was really interested in and made a huge bargain. In less than thirty minutes, I’ll become a millionaire, no more rent issues, delayed fees for my son or delayed nanny’s salary. The thought of all that was to come made my heart jittery. “We are here” – Terry said, helping with the car door. We walked to the boot and when we opened it, my heart sank, a heat wave enveloped my skin, making me stagger backwards.
My screams of “no no no” attracted passersby, everyone inching closer to the car boot to see what I was so afraid of… and there it was; sprawled across the boot of the car was my painting with a gallon of fuel pouring out on top the surface. Terry brought out the painting but the mistake was INDELIBLE.
I walked to the side of the road, my hands across my mouth stifling the screams that tried to escape…
Pain…. Pain…. Pain…
No responses yet