THE STARVING ARTIST

Vincent was extremely hungry.  It had been three long days since his last meal.  If someone would buy one of his paintings, he could get some food.  But he hadn't sold a painting in several weeks, and he never received much for his paintings anyway.  A masterpiece by Vincent was the equivalent of an average painting by one of the many artists in town.  Sometimes, Vincent thought that the only reason anyone bought one from him was out of pity,  and he wasn't too far off.

Vincent lived in Chicago, in a small studio above a drug store.  He had always wanted to live as an Artist.  Well, here he was: An Artist in The Big City.  Somehow the fantasy left out a few things.  What he really wanted to be was a Rich, Successful Artist in the Best Part of The Big City.

Vincent looked at his latest disaster and winced.  It was a landscape of rolling hills and blue sky.  It looked like a million other landscape pictures painted by less ambitious and less talented artists than Vincent.  Or so Vincent believed.

Abruptly, Vincent grabbed the canvas and left his studio.  He had to eat!

He would take it to the Aubon Gallery.  Mr. Charles would buy it.  He had bought several of Vincent’s paintings in the past. Vincent knew that Mr. Charles had bought them out of pity, but so what?  He had to eat!

Vincent also knew that Mr. Charles would give him a hard time.  He was always criticizing Vincent, saying that style and technique were everything.  That if only Vincent could develop a unique 'look', then Mr. Charles would be able to push his paintings with a little more enthusiasm and a little less embarrassment.

The Gallery was fairly busy, as it was early on a Saturday, and the vast hordes of shoppers had converged on The City.  Vincent, with his bulky canvas under his arm, entered the gallery and looked around for Mr. Charles.  He saw him talking to some rich sucker in an old brown suit. Vincent approached the two, but when Mr. Charles saw him a small cloud passed before his eyes, and he motioned Vincent towards the back.  So Vincent went to the back near Mr. Charles office and waited.

 It was quite sometime before Mr. Charles was able to spare Vincent a moment.  When he did he was abrupt and angry.

"What do you think you're doing?"  He asked.  "No Artist walks in the front door with a painting.  You do that at a pawn shop, not the Aubon Gallery."

"I'm sorry," said Vincent.  And he was.  Humiliated too.  "I need to sell this. I'm hungry..."

Mr. Charles looked at Vincent with disgust.  "Listen," He finally said.

"I can't buy any more of your pictures.  I've been as helpful as I can be. We are a business, not a charity.  I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave."

And with that Mr. Charles turned and walked away as if he was daring Vincent to stay.

Vincent left.  Outside, he impaled the canvas over a parking meter.

What would he do now?  The Aubon Gallery had been his only source of bread and butter.  Perhaps he would have to steal some food, he thought, then he would be a Thief in The Big City.

He went home instead and told himself that many famous artists had spent their early years starving.  It wasn't much comfort, but it was something.

There was a blank canvas on the floor, propped against the wall.

Vincent stared at it.  His stomach growled, and he felt light headed.

Why was it so difficult to convert that mocking blankness into living color?

No answer.  He stared some more.

He tried to imagine a beautiful landscape with bright, surreal colors.  Something beyond great. Something stupendous!

And as Vincent sat there, feeling dejected, he saw the canvas come alive with colors.  Slowly, the colors coalesced into a coherent image. Vincent was dumbfounded.  A fantastic landscape had appeared on the canvas.   Vincent thought his hunger was playing tricks on him, so he went to the painting and held it up for closer inspection.  Either he was hallucinating, or he had just materialize one of the finest landscapes he had ever seen.

Well, why fight it?  He threw a cloth over the front to protect it and headed back to the Aubon Gallery.

The old landscape over the parking meter was still there.  Several people were standing around trying to figure out if it was Art or not.

 Vincent entered the store and found Mr. Charles.

Mr. Charles rolled his eyes.  "Vincent..."

"Wait." Interrupted Vincent.  "Look at this."  He held up the canvas and dramatically pulled the cloth cover aside.

Mr. Charles laughed in spite of himself.  Then he sobered up.  "Is this some kind of a joke?" He asked.

Vincent looked at the picture and back at Mr. Charles.  "What do you mean?"

"I've seen Modern Art before, but a blank canvas?  Here's ten bucks.  Go get some food and quit messing around."

Vincent took the money and left.  He stopped people on the street and asked them what they saw on the canvas.  "It's blank."  They all said.

Vincent went back to his studio.  It must be the hunger, he thought.

Then he had an idea.  He mixed his paints, cleaned his brushes, sat down and began to trace the painting that he saw.  It took most of the day, but he finished well before the Gallery’s closing time.

He went back.

This time Mr. Charles had seen him coming and met him at the door.

"Vincent, I'm getting slightly annoyed..."

Vincent held up the painting.  The wet paint gleamed in the sun.  Mr. Charles stood for a moment with his mouth open, then he pointed at the painting and said: "You..?"

Vincent nodded.

"It's fantastic! I can't believe it..." Mr. Charles stared with disbelief.

A small crowd gathered on the side walk around them.  There were many admiring murmurs.

Mr. Charles said, to Vincent’s astonishment; "I'll pay five thousand for it, Vincent."

Vincent smiled. "I'll take it." He said.

Mr. Charles took Vincent to one side.  "I can't understand it.  How did you do it?  What technique did you use?"

Vincent thought for a moment.  His stomach growled.

"The Starving Artist Technique."  He said.

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