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    Artists & Liars
    Artists & Liars
    Artists & Liars
    Ebook99 pages1 hour

    Artists & Liars

    By K S Dearsley

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A collection of art themed short stories, flash fiction and poetry from the Writer in Residence at The Grid artists' studios, Warwickshire. Clumsy cleaners, bashful models, self-centred divas, disciples and devotees–the short stories, flash fiction and poetry in Artists & Liars look at the art world from every angle.

    As Pablo Picasso said: "Art is a lie that reveals the truth." Art and artists show us who we are and what the world could be. Whether you love visiting galleries or think conceptual art is something to do with birth control–whether you are conscious of it or not, art influences all our lives. Artists, models, dealers, collectors, voyeurs, where would be without them?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherK S Dearsley
    Release dateJun 4, 2013
    ISBN9781301324750
    Artists & Liars
    Author

    K S Dearsley

    K. S. Dearsley began writing stories practically as soon as she could hold a pencil. She started with fiction and plays (often inspired by Dr. Who) and a series of secret agent 'novels' influenced by The Avengers and The Man from Uncle, and continued writing throughout a series of jobs before returning to university to get an MA in Linguistics and Literature. She finally got to be a professional writer, freelancing for newspapers, magazines and businesses.She is now a prize-winning playwright and short story writer (The Jo Cowell Award, Dark Tales, Lymm Festival, Sussex Radio Playwriting etc.), and her work has appeared in various publications on both sides of the Atlantic, including Daily SF, Dark Horizons, QWF, Time for Bedlam and Diabolical Plots.When she is not writing she practises Tai Chi and daydreams about living in a warm country.

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      Book preview

      Artists & Liars - K S Dearsley

      Artists & Liars

      by K. S. Dearsley

      Copyright ⓒ K. S. Dearsley 2013

      Published by K. S. Dearsley

      Smashwords edition

      Cover image by K. S. Dearsley taken from a phonetic transcription of The Promise using colours instead of symbols.

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Any resemblence to real people and events by the characters and incidents portrayed in this novel is purely coincidental.

      http://www.ksdearsley.com

      Dedication

      For all the artists, teachers, experts, enthusiasts and the old yeller cat who have provided me with so much pleasure and inspiration.

      Table of Contents

      Foreword

      Panteknikon 14

      The Butterfly Effect

      A Work in Progress

      The Girl Who Wasn't There

      Touch of the Artist

      The Promise

      The Hollow Man

      Blind Alleys

      Squint

      A Cut Above

      Bare the Body and Hide the Soul

      Beached

      Angel Wings

      Return Visit

      About the author

      By the Same Author

      Foreword

      Back in 2013, a follower on Twitter asked me where they could read my short stories. They are scattered in so many places that the best answer seemed to be to group some of them in an anthology. The result was Artists & Liars. While I have Olde Yeller Cat to thank for prompting me to create this anthology, the inspiration for the contents came from the many artists it is my privilege to know and to have worked for.

      None of the characters in these stories is based on any real person, but had I not been introduced to artists and their world, Artists & Liars could not have been written. For this, I have to give special thanks to artist and sculptor Tim Richards and his wife, Hanneke. I have known Hanneke since I was sixteen, and Tim for the past forty-five years. I don't know which of them first thought of asking me to life-model, but it has enriched my life in so many different ways.

      Sadly, Tim recently lost his struggle against leukaemia, something that still seems unbelievable. My love goes to all his family, and my gratitude for opening my life to so many experiences, insights and people.

      K. S. Dearsley

      December 2023

      Panteknikon 14

      It was my fault. When she walked into the gallery I should have kept quiet, said nothing for once. I suppose it was the shock of finding someone who needed no words to see beauty. I keep hearing snatches of that music, in the rise and fall of an overheard sentence, a rhythm in the footsteps on polished boards. I listen eagerly–this time I will be able to recapture it–the silent tune she danced to, and then it is gone. But I am babbling. My ability to talk, to make of straight lines and blocks of colour a coherent story, has made me rich, has robbed me of the only thing I have ever found truly beautiful. Let me explain.

      Like most critics, I once wanted to be an artist, but as my tutor put it: John, my boy, you should go far–your women look like outhouses and your landscapes like swimming pools. No one will ever know what they are meant to be without an explanation–excellent!

      Since I was evidently no Michelangelo, but my manifestos were works of genius, I decided to become an art adviser and buyer instead, working for galleries initially. When the press accused my employers of spending thousands for a piece of scrap metal or lump of offal, I would be the one to convince them of its artistic worth. Believe me, I am good at it–sometimes I even convince myself. That was how I first came to the attention of Dalton Griffin. The baby-faced business mogul had a reputation as a ruthless Philistine. I was to help him change it and help him make some good investments at the same time.

      A phone call summoned me to his office, my protests that I did not make house calls neatly ignored. I rose in a silent lift that left my stubbornly fluttery stomach some floors below, and was shown into an office with a carpet as luxuriant and as big as a bowling green. I noted bare walls and bare furniture–the sort that offered more style than comfort, with a desk like an altar at one end. The grandeur created the illusion that this was the antechamber of some cosmopolitan princeling. It was as deceptive as the cherubic looks of Dalton Griffin as he entered and motioned me into a chair. The chubby rosy cheeks and flowing grey locks made him look like Father Christmas's younger brother, and had tempted many into believing that this was a jovial, simple man–before they felt the stiletto between the shoulder-blades.

      He looked me over as frankly as I viewed him. For once my neatly trimmed moustache and the red spotted silk handkerchief ostentatiously tucked in my top pocket felt uncomfortable.

      I won't beat about the bush, he began I want 'in' to the top rank of society. Show the patrician snobs I've as much class as they have. Make them think I'm one of them. You can do that for me.

      I raised my eyebrows.

      Constable's always been good enough for me, pictures that look like something, but I hear these days that's called 'greetings card' art. You're going to buy me a collection of the new stuff; show those toffee-nosed bastards I know what's what.

      I mentally rubbed my palms together at the thought of all those pound signs. It overwhelmed any scruples I might have about working for one whom the press had nicknamed 'the baby-faced butcher' for his habit of taking over smaller companies and slicing them up. It was soon arranged: I was to be given a free hand and an open budget as long as what I bought would be the envy of the connoisseurs. Here I should mention the difference between collectors and connoisseurs. The latter do not necessarily buy, but they do appreciate, whereas the former buy indiscriminately as long as the object fits their theme. Griffin was a collector, but he wanted to be thought a connoisseur. If I had realised he was a collector, I would have known that sooner or later he would cause trouble.

      At first all went well. I chose carefully from the newly established masters, specialising in the kind of spare sculptures where the form consists of hints and suggestions. Griffin accepted them all with the same nod and Save the spiel for the press, just tell me where it should go.

      I even managed to introduce the occasional piece into that mausoleum of an office. Then I came across the first piece by Angel. I never have been able to describe Angel's work accurately, not that that made any difference to Griffin, but it did bother me. Maybe disturbing, no, unsettling is the word that describes it best. This first

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