Selfie

The artist specialized in self-portraits.

This was not to say that he would not paint other things, for commissioned work, or an art show. But he was vain, and whenever he painted in his free time, the paintings were only ever of himself.

He painted himself on the beach, in the mountains, in a rocking chair, and even an Andy Warhol-esque work, with himself in different colors in four squares.

He happened across a small shop while out looking for art supplies. He looked at the sign on the door. It read “Antiquated Art Emporium”. He had never seen this particular shop before, so he went in.

There was an old woman sitting behind a display case that held pallets and brushes of different colored woods. Behind her, hanging on the wall, were several portraits. The artist identified them as being all self-portraits. There was something in the way people painted their own eyes that made them more alive than if it was a model.

“Ah, I see you’re admiring my collection,” said the old woman with a smile. “I always ask the artists that come in to do a self-portrait for me as payment. I don’t deal in money, you see.”

The artist didn’t find this strange. He knew of many dealers that used the barter system. “That’s a fair deal,” he said.

The woman smiled at him again and set about gathering canvases, paints, and a pallet. He stopped her as she went for an easel, stating that he already had one. She nodded, and placed everything on the counter.

She held up a finger after the artist asked for a new brush. She ducked behind the display case and pulled up a leather-bound case. He looked at her expectantly.

“This brush here,” she started, taking it out of the case, “has quite the history to it. In fact, all the artists you see on my wall have used this very brush for their self-portraits.”

The artist looked back at the portraits. They were all very skillfully done. The brushstrokes were clean and straight, and he could tell that not a hair on it had ever strayed. He found it curious that they would all return the brush after using it.

“May I?’ he asked her, reaching for it.

She hesitated, holding the brush close to her mouth and seeming to speak to it. After a moment, she held it out to him.

“Why would all these artists return it to you?” he asked as he inspected the brush closely. The handle seemed to be made from yew. “It’s exquisite.”

She smiled again, and the smile unsettled him slightly. “That’s the other condition, I’m afraid,” she said, taking the brush back and clasping it securely in its case. “You see, this brush was a family heirloom. I myself have no talent for art, but I hate for the brush to not be used. I offer it to you for the use of your self-portrait, and then I must ask you to return it to me.”

He thought for a moment, then agreed to her terms. In his mind, he would do no such thing. He would use the brush for his self-portrait, deliver the portrait, and simply keep the brush. What could she do?

“One more thing, dear,” said the woman, as the artist was gathering the supplies. He rolled his eyes at the door before turning around. “I enjoy watching a master artist like you in action. Would you mind if I came by your studio while you paint?”

He smiled at her and wrote the address of his flat on a piece of paper. “I’ll probably work on it this weekend, if you’d like to come by. Perhaps Saturday, around teatime?

“Oh, that would be lovely,” said the woman. “I look forward to it!”

As he left the shop, the artist smiled to himself. He would complete the best self-portrait he had ever done, and it would be that night. He would leave the portrait outside the back of the shop the next day, and then pack up and leave the flat. The woman would never find him, and she would still get her payment.

To Be Continued...

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My first to be continued, with part 2 coming next week. In preparation for that, the challenge is this: what is the most ridiculous thing you've ever had to stand in line for?

As always, please have your submissions in by Thursday night at 9:00 pm CST, and don't forget to subscribe!