He made another mark on the canvas with the acrylic scraper, leaving a blue-green, and purple flame along the line of others to the melody of the song. ‘Higher’ by Creed was playing on a loop and judging by the remaining space, it would take three more playthroughs to complete the work. He had the better part of a glass of wine remaining but felt comfortable for right now.
Hell, he thought, I can actually enjoy drinking now.
His cellphone buzzed next to him and he quickly answered it.
“Hey, Amabelle. Thanks for checking up on me these last few days. I think I have fully…synchronized? I’m guessing that’s what I can call it.”
“Well, you are definitely sounding more You-you. Not the weird peppy version when you turned in that piece for Courtinghouse Credit Union.”
Robert wondered at the moment. For the last few days, he had been in a pseudo fugue state. Only now did his consciousness seemed to be present as he had been going about his day to day with his new…
“I was worried about doing the tribal cleanse, but I am really tired of the level of alcohol poisoning required every time I wanted to paint.”
Robert looked about the room until his eyes settled on his view of the dining room. He closed his eyes for a moment and calmed himself. Letting go of all judgment and embracing thoughts of experimentation he opened them. Upon opening his eyes he could visualize the canvas tangibly surrounding the view. He could easily trace the image into a photo-realistic painting as he had when he first discovered this…Artist Perception. He even did a couple of such ‘vanilla’ pieces. Focusing further he tried various themes and motifs. Regardless, he still had it.
“I didn’t think that you would’ve gone off the deep end like that, Rob. When you called I was about to send an ambulance to your house despite you saying you’d run off.”
“I was on a roll,” Robert laughed. “Granted my immediate short term memory was switched off, everything else seemed fine. Better in fact. There was considerable vomiting initially though.”
The artist moved about his apartment practicing his newfound visualization technique as he spoke. He had a base fear that he would lose this ability and hoped the repeated use would train his mind to keep it.
“So you are feeling better though? Do I need to check in on you every eight hours again?” Amabelle asked.
“No, I should be fine. You never did tell me how the Courtinghouse Credit Union piece did.”
“As always the client was satisfied, but I have to say that it one is truly unique as far as your work goes. I wouldn’t have believed it was yours if you hadn’t painted an entirely new work right in front of me.”
He remembered the work in an ‘Oh yeah, by the way…” sort of matter after the fact.
“I was going for sort of Bob Ross with Led Zepplin groove. You and Darcy were quite entertained though.”
“So, I was wondering when you were going to work on your next commission.”
“What do you mean? I made the deadline without drinking myself nearly to death.”
“But the cleanse though messed you up for nearly a week.” She said.
“I was otherwise fine by the time you called. The vomiting had subsided and I immediately finished the piece. It still counts. Kinda like only having the hangover without all of the drinking.”
Amabelle had already planned for me to fail, he guessed. She was looking for more commissions while he was working and had already made a promise or two. At first, it made him mad that she is renigging on their agreement, but then he figured it wouldn’t take him very long to finish any piece now.
“Are you drinking now?”
“I”m having a glass while finishing another piece. Subsequently, I will probably never listen to Creed after this.”
Robert could visualize the gears turning in her head right now. The bitch makes the money and really does not care what her clients produce as long as they do and it satisfies the commission. Doddson figured he wouldn’t be that upset to take on another job, but he wasn’t going to do her any favors.
“Robert, these jobs don’t come up as easily as it seems to you. Ihave to go through numerous channels just to find clients…”
“Look, if you have another commission lined up for me, then I’ll do it, but I still want to work on….me. Just because I can work faster now doesn’t mean I want a bunch of jobs tying my hands.”
The phone on the other end shifted hands.
“Alright, Rob. I’ll send you the details. Just try not to kill yourself again. Or at least warn me when you’re about to do something crazy again.”
“No problem. Tell Da…”
Amabelle clicked off the phone. The feeling of dysphoria reemerged once he settled back into the sofa and pressed play on the remote. His mind had actively checked out for quite some time, but he could recall everything once he thought about things. Just chronologically blended. After three more repeats of the song, the artist completed the piece he now titled ‘Doo-doo doo dodi-loo dooli-dloo.’
Robert walked around the apartment. It was clean now. Before it had been the dustiest museum of a dwelling he had ever lived in. The kitchen island was a different matter, looking something like an exhibit from the Salem Witch Trial Museum. The various ingredients and components he had collected last week were carefully organized and some even hung from the pot keeper above. He then moved to the studio.
“Holy shit!” He said aloud.
He was very much aware of the amount of painting he completed, in that oh-by-the-way manner, but it still astounded him. He wasn’t sure if it was the years of drinking, or the cleansing, or the combined effects of both, but the end result was that he could now paint. More importantly, he could visualize. Not just visualize, but produce a…hallucination, for lack of a better word, actively showing him what the end product should look like. The possibilities were endless.
His musings ended abruptly while he was sorting through the upright stacks of canvases. Buried amongst them was something angry, with dark streaks of black and harsh slices of red. He looked it over several times. Thinking quickly, he closed his eyes, calmed his thoughts, and examined the elements of the picture. The shape in the middle resembled two sets of tree roots the bottom side grey, with the top shooting out the visceral eruption of red. All about it was dark slices of browns and blacks. All signifying anger and violence.
Ok, he thought, things are getting a little bit too weird now as he carefully set the piece back in its place.
“Where the hell did this come from?”
James C Gilliam 