“You are quite the esthete,” the gallery owner said.
“Thank you, Edward,” April said, smiling. “I do love your selection of artists.”
“All local. You’re are artist, aren’t you?”
April nodded still breathing in the newest addition to the collection.
“Well, let me know if you ever want to show anything here, and I’ll fit you in.”
“Thank you!” April gasped as her face lit up.
She festinated around town buying all the essentials – paint, canvas, farm-fresh organic carrots and cauliflower, and fresh manure. Once home she set to work creating her newest masterpiece. After five years of being an artist, she was finally going to get her big break.
A week later she returned to the gallery with her masterpiece. Edward was busy with customers, so he simply waved for her to set it in the back and that he would call her later. She happily complied and returned home to wait for his call. A few minutes after she left, customers began sniffing the air. Art gallery patrons do not often complain when people pass gas, and they tried to ignore the rudeness of whom ever polluted the air, but as the minutes passed, the smell increased. People began covering their noses and coughed. Edward was doing his best to not embarrass whomever made the foul odor but opening the door and standing in the doorway waving a clip board was not doing anything to help.
As customers left complaining about the gallery, Edward was beside himself. He plugged his nose the best he could and waded through the growing stench was still filling his gallery and tried to find its source. Perhaps a skunk slipped in somehow? Although he didn’t know how a skunk would have navigated New York City safely just to come to his gallery.
Nothing on the gallery floor. His eyes were watering now, and he began gagging. He had to find the source of the god-awful stench. He picked up a small trash can and took it with him as he headed into the back room. After losing his lunch again, he saw April’s piece wrapped in brown paper that was dripping from the bottom. Dripping? Art? He was almost afraid to look, but he had to find the source and remove it.
Edward ripped the paper, lost tomorrow’s dinner, and discovered the source. Her painting was a farm scene complete with fresh…um…yeah. He dragged the painting outside, dripping and dropping its paint throughout the gallery. Around the corner to the dumpster. In the dumpster. Even flies fled the stench.
Three rounds of cleaning and a week later, Edward hung the out of business sign on his gallery. It was impossible to remove the stench from all the artwork and the expense of reimbursing all the artists for their loss. April had essentially driven him to bankruptcy all because of her warped aesthetics.