Chapter 4 - Setting the Crowd on Fire
“Hush now, Sparkle. Mind your manners.”
Max sighed to see June Dixon walk through the gallery’s doors. She brought her poodle with her again, the dog held in the special purse June had made to help her transport that pet all about town. The dog had made a mess on the golden carpet the last time June had come to peer at the templates mounted on the wall. But Max knew there was nothing he could do prevent that woman from bringing that poodle into his gallery. June Dixon was too much of a steady customer to be challenged with any gallery rule.
Max greeted June with the gallery’s most recently printed program. “It’s good to see you’re making the most of your annual exhibit pass, Mrs. Dixon. There are some fine templates in the main gallery. I’d be happy to look after Sparkle while you peruse the work.”
“Sparkle with stay with me, Mr. Sievers.” Mrs. Dixon’s eyes frosted.
“Of course,” Max nodded. “I was only offering the assistance to help make sure Sparkle could get outside if he needed it.”
Mrs. Dixon growled and Sparkle barked. “It will not happen again, Mr. Sievers. And I did not come here today to stare at more templates. I want to see what has Ms. Aldrich so upset. I want to see for myself if this strange painting is as ugly as that fool of a woman claims.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, Mr. Sievers. I know better than anyone else what I want to see.”
Max frowned. No one could likely stir trouble regarding that strange painting like Mrs. Dixon. June never missed a single exhibit mounted upon the walls. She still believed that even the templates did the aging, graying world much good. Money had never been scarce in June’s life, not as a the only daughter of the state’s largest hog farmer, not as the widow of the husband who owned the plastic and fertilizer plant that at one time put so much of the community to work. That money gave June a deep supply of free time, and so her pursuits stretched across a very wide table - bird watching in the Dixon wildlife sanctuary, Tuesday night card games of Bridge at the Dixon country club, naps through performances atop the Dixon public park stage, fine dining at one of the handful of restaurants owing their enterprise to the start up loan June Dixon supplied.
And June enjoyed the time she spent in the gallery more than any of her other hobbies. She had painted all of the templates offered in the gift shop. She had brushed color upon every template in the national park series. She had colored seascapes and city skylines. June had carefully followed the directions of every kit the gift shop ever stocked, and none in the community had been featured upon the gallery’s walls as often as had June Dixon. The gallery never asked June Dixon to wait in line. The gallery never forced June to leave her Sparkle at the door. June’s template output made her the town’s creative celebrity.
“I won’t delay you any longer, Mrs. Dixon. Let me escort you to the gallery’s rear viewing chamber.”
Sparkle barked and growled from his master’s purse as Max led Mrs. Dixon down a curving hall that opened upon the gallery’s third, and less frequently used, exhibition room. There were no other paintings mounted anywhere upon the walls to rival the strange painting of orange and red swirls painted in glistening oils. June Dixon gasped as she stepped into the exhibition room with Max. Sparkle whined as June stood stiff and silent for many moments in the center of that chamber, considering how those forms centered in that strange work appeared to shift and sway. Her knees wobbled slightly as those colorful swirls appeared to rise in the center of the otherwise barren white walls.
“Hush, Sparkle!” The dog snapped at June’s fingers as she attempted to sooth the agitated creature by stroking its ear. “Mind your manners! Give me a little peace to appreciate this piece.”
Sparkle settled into a steady whimper as June took another step closer to that painting. It was uncommon for the gallery to ever display a single canvas in any exhibition room. June realized there were too many completed templates waiting for purchased showing times to allow so much wall space to go unused. The painting currently on the wall was also far larger than any of the canvases supplied by the template kits, and June suspected that she would find no thick outlines in black ink beneath the paint would she brush away the overlaying color. She had painted so many templates herself, and that experience in the end made June yearn for the ability to create her own lines and shadows without the constraint of directions and outlines. She stood in the center of that exhibition chamber and ignored Sparkle’s whimpering. Did a hand that had the freedom to place color upon an empty canvas without regard to a template model stroke that painting? Did such artists, with such skill, still remain?
“Hush, dog! It’s only paint!”
June removed a cloth from her jacket’s inner pocket and wiped at the sweat that broke upon her forehead. Was there something wrong with the air-conditioning in that exhibition chamber? Had Max forgotten to adjust the thermostat, and would the warmth June suddenly felt upon her brow endanger the painting? June’s eyes narrowed as they locked upon those masculine and feminine forms embracing one another in the center of so much swirling oranges and reds. The air seemed to shimmer from rising heat.
Sparkle strained in the purse as June stepped directly to the painting. Before the gallery’s curator could protest, June raised a finger and poked the glistening canvas.
“See there, Sparkle, it’s only paint. There’s no harm in paint.”
Max frowned. “Mrs. Dixon, I’m certainly grateful for everything you’ve done for our gallery, but I cannot allow guests to touch the mounted pieces.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” June shook her head. “I won’t let it happen again.”
June noticed a splotch of orange paint on her fingertip. She felt ashamed for breaking such a cardinal rule and touching a mounted canvas, and she did not like the way that orange splotch seemed to snicker at her fault. She rubbed at the splotch, but only succeeded to spread the tint upon the rest of her finger. She scratched at the color, and she frowned to see she only increased the splotch’s size until it reached the back of her hand.
“Mr. Sievers, would you mind holding Sparkle for me while I visit the lavatory?” June handed Max the purse and its whimpering contents before the curator could decline accepting the animal. “I’m not feeling entirely well. Perhaps if I took a moment to freshen up a little.”
“If you insist, Mrs. Dixon.”
June gave no indication of hearing Max as she hurried back into the hall in direction of the restrooms. Sparkle did not growl at the curator, but the dog’s whimpering grew louder. Max comforted the dog as best he could. He feared that James Moultrie might have been right. Hanging such a painting in the gallery may have been a very rash and foolish thing to do. So Max comforted the poodle as best as he could, hoping as he did so that the dog would not do anything unpleasant to ruin Mrs. Dixon’s purse.
Opus Wall Page 4
