I can not recall if I posted my short story paint by numbers on here before or not so I decided to toss it up anyways.
The story is about a art thief who tries to justify her actions and lifestyle by convincing herself that the great artists were not gifted or hard working but common thieves just like she was.....
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Paint by Numbers
In the garage, Jamie poured herself a third drink of whiskey and looked at the collection of stolen paintings that hung before her. Their frames had been cut away leaving only the canvas with jagged edges. Except for that, the artworks appeared much like they had when they hung in people’s homes — the Rembrandts, Monets and Salvador Dalis . All surrounded by other perfect works from masters of centuries past.
Perfect. As if they were all paint by numbers
Then who placed the numbers?
She considered this as she finished her whiskey and returned to work, carefully rolling the paintings and inserting them into long plastic tubes. She labeled these with such names as reprints inc and The Masters series. Fake names that meant nothing, as long as the authorities didn’t check into them. Jamie then placed the tubes into a wooden crate to be shipped off to the highest bidder. All of this for twenty-five percent cut of the profits, not bad for a common thief.
She did not appreciate the art herself. As far as she was concerned, all artists were pretentious. They all thought of themselves as above common crooks like herself, but still the thought returned to her.
What if all of the most famous paintings were conceived from a single mind?
Jamie finished packing the tubes into the crates, then nailed the lid down. She placed the forged document in the clear plastic holder along with the shipper’s three percent cut of cash and sealed everything tight. Now all she had to do was wait for the pickup and she would be finished with her part. Still…
Who could have created thousands on paint by numbers templates? Could it be possible? Numbers written down so light that modern X-rays have never pick up on it.
The rapping on her garage door broke her pondering. The pick-up service arrived. They promptly lifted the crate into the van and after a quick signature, forged of course, and a flash from her fake ID. The crate were off to eager men and women to be displayed in off-shore McMansions.
A master among masters. A God? A Devil? Or…
The thought tickled her. That so many of the famous painters were nothing more then ordinary people like herself, all patrons of a true master?
Then, what if…
All sculptors followed a blue print?
Musicians all covers
And the dancers…
And the actors…
And the writers…
She clicked the garage door button and watched as the door shielded out the world from herself.
Nothing but common thieves, all of em…
She hoisted herself on an empty crate, poured another shot of whiskey and fanned her payment cash, cold and hard. She glanced around at the now empty garage.
Yup, all common thieves like herself.
Maybe they weren’t so pretentious after all.
The above story dose not reflect my personal belief in the creativity of artists. I just thought the concept would make a fun short story.
Then again, maybe the “master among masters” is more of a sub-conscious muse that all artists and humans draw from for inspiration. Maybe every piece of art be it music, writing, painting, dancing etc… has always, on some level, existed and is slowly leaking out into our world.
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