Artsy Fartsy

~For the Short Story Smackdown~

Artsy Fartsy

 The modern art is so weird. Almost anything can be considered “art” if seen from the right point of view. Even weird ladies holding saws.

 In fact, I’ve been staring at a mural sized picture of a woman in a black dress holding a saw for the past fifteen minutes. My best friend Kylie forced me to see this new modern art exhibition called “Seen” at the Museum of Art and Culture. She is looking for inspiration for a huge project for her art class.

 I don’t really know why she dragged me here. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, so I’m not much help. Heck, she even teases me by calling me Mr. Logic. I suck at interpreting things, except for simple things like, “He drew that because it looked pretty.”

 Though from the look on her face, this exhibition doesn’t seem to inspire her very much.

 “I really don’t get this,” I whisper to her. I’m starting to get crossed from staring at weird wall-sized pictures. This is not the way I wanted to spend my Saturday.

 “You just need to really think about it, Tom,” she says, pushing up her glasses, “Think of how it makes you feel.”

  I roll my dark brown eyes and try again. I see a weird lady holding up a saw.

 “It makes me feel bored. Are you inspired already?” I say.

 “It takes more than just staring at weird pictures to be inspired. Not that you would know, Mr. Logic.”

 “Well, I still don’t get it. What do you think it means?”

 She shrugs, “Some sort of comment on the human condition? Something about feminism and suppression and whatever. Anyway, you don’t have to understand art. You just need to feel what’s right.”

 I chuckle and she whacks me upside the head. “This is serious, Tom,” she snaps, “Ms. Kay wants us to make an ‘unorthodox nod at modern art’. Something that doesn’t make sense but make people think. Blah, blah, blah. I think I can recite her entire speech from memory.” I chuckle again. I can just imagine Ms. Kay pacing around the room and waving her hands around like a maniac.

 “That’s what you get for wanting to take a college level art course. You should have taken dumb ass art like me,” I tease.

 She narrows her green eyes at me and elbows my rib. I clumsily dodge her elbow.

 “Why don’t you just splash some paint on some canvas or something?” I suggest.

 “I think about half of the class is planning on doing something like that.”

 “I’d model for you if you like. Holding a screw driver.” I even pose for her, holding an imaginary screwdriver and making a mockingly serious face.

 She shakes her head, “You don’t understand, Tom. I can’t just do something without having the feel of it.” She takes a look around the room. The entire exhibition is just serious ladies holding up saws. I can’t imagine what the artist would have felt when he made this.

 I yawn and run my hands over my short, brown hair. “This is boring. Let’s go.”

 “Sure. Whatever,” she says. Today is a nice day, thank goodness. Cloudy and without too much traffic. The walk from the museum to my house is pretty short. We keep throwing around ideas on the way. 

 “Look,” Kylie says with frustration. I had made more than a few unhelpful comments that irritated Kylie. “In chemistry, everything is precise. It has to be or else you’ll blow your hand off. But in art, it’s much less exact. You can think you’re the greatest artist who’s ever lived but it might look like utter trash to everybody else. Or you can do a complete boneheaded job and still be considered a genius.”

 “Like that guy with the saw ladies?” I add.

 She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs, “Like that guy with the saw ladies...”

 Before we know it we are walking up my lawn. My house is the best. Two stories high, made of wood and very cozy. Thank goodness Dad left us the house after the divorce.

 “Mom, we’re home,” I call out when we walk in.

 “Afternoon, Ms. G,” Kylie says. Mom pops out of the kitchen with a weary smile on her face.She has the phone in her hand, probably talking to a client. She’s been working hard taking care of me and my younger sister Daisy.