Have I already put this one up before? Just thought the blog could do with a revival. So. Revive, oh blog!
Kevin was distraught. The culmination of all his years as a student of Fine Arts was this one piece. It combined the latest in contemporary art with the incredible world of science. It was a clash of colour and monochrome, of order and entropy, of geometry and art, of science and religion. It was a representation of the miniature world of incomprehensible particles found within an atom. And yet his professor had been completely dismissive about it. He called it ‘The Blow-Up’. His professor had called it a blow-off.
And so it happened that he was standing on the sidewalk next to his professor’s office, with his heart, soul, morale – everything except his canvas – torn to shreds. It was Saturday evening, and quite a few people had already spent the better part of the day in the bar. One such straggler walked up to Kevin. He was pretty unstable, and had yet another unfinished beer in his hand. He peered curiously, screwing his eyes up and bending forward – first at the painting, then at Kevin, and back at the painting. Kevin opened his mouth to tell him to buzz off, but the drunk beat him to it. Not to say anything though. In one convulsive twitch of his body and one retching motion, the man vomited his lunch right on to the center of The Blow-Up. After a couple of more moments doubled up, he wiped his mouth, straightened, smiled at Kevin and walked away.
Kevin stared at his canvass in horror. His mind went numb as he evaluated the artistic homicide that had just taken place. All of his quarks, mesons and neutrinos were now mixed with half-digested spaghetti and unidentifiable gravy. His thoughts were simply unable to process anything. It was a miracle that he thought he heard something at all, through the otherwise-deafening silence that filled his head. There was that voice again, going, “… that shows innovation”.
He spun around. It was his professor, on his way home. As Kevin stared back in reply, his professor continued, “Now it looks more natural, the colour scheme. Nature doesn’t operate in Technicolor you know. And the uneven texture – lovely touch.” He patted Kevin lightly on the back, “I always knew you had it in you. You just had to get it out, somehow.”
Well, I didn’t get it out, but someone else sure did, thought Kevin. “Thank You Sir”, he mumbled, still dazed by the conflicting emotions swirling through his mind, to the disappearing back of his professor.
As they say, Beauty lies in the eyes of the Beer Holder. Or rather, stomachs.
Kevin renamed his painting “The Throw-Up”.
And so it happened that he was standing on the sidewalk next to his professor’s office, with his heart, soul, morale – everything except his canvas – torn to shreds. It was Saturday evening, and quite a few people had already spent the better part of the day in the bar. One such straggler walked up to Kevin. He was pretty unstable, and had yet another unfinished beer in his hand. He peered curiously, screwing his eyes up and bending forward – first at the painting, then at Kevin, and back at the painting. Kevin opened his mouth to tell him to buzz off, but the drunk beat him to it. Not to say anything though. In one convulsive twitch of his body and one retching motion, the man vomited his lunch right on to the center of The Blow-Up. After a couple of more moments doubled up, he wiped his mouth, straightened, smiled at Kevin and walked away.
Kevin stared at his canvass in horror. His mind went numb as he evaluated the artistic homicide that had just taken place. All of his quarks, mesons and neutrinos were now mixed with half-digested spaghetti and unidentifiable gravy. His thoughts were simply unable to process anything. It was a miracle that he thought he heard something at all, through the otherwise-deafening silence that filled his head. There was that voice again, going, “… that shows innovation”.
He spun around. It was his professor, on his way home. As Kevin stared back in reply, his professor continued, “Now it looks more natural, the colour scheme. Nature doesn’t operate in Technicolor you know. And the uneven texture – lovely touch.” He patted Kevin lightly on the back, “I always knew you had it in you. You just had to get it out, somehow.”
Well, I didn’t get it out, but someone else sure did, thought Kevin. “Thank You Sir”, he mumbled, still dazed by the conflicting emotions swirling through his mind, to the disappearing back of his professor.
As they say, Beauty lies in the eyes of the Beer Holder. Or rather, stomachs.
Kevin renamed his painting “The Throw-Up”.
