Pièce de Résistance

As an artist, I have keen powers of observation. I can read the emotions in the eyes of others, the sorrows they carry in their postures, the weariness in the way they place their steps. Such awareness places a great burden on me, on my soul, but I am strong. My gift allows me to use the suffering I see and turn it into art. Critics call my sculptures brilliant, but grotesque and disturbing. Poor simple- minded beings. They don’t understand. The twisted bodies, the expressions of horror, of fear, merely represent the human condition. Not for me is the insipid work of Thomas Kinkade—the twinkling lights, the cheesy settings, the empty peace do not reflect humanity. No, I release the deep beast within the breast of mankind and expose our true nature to my audience.

My bronze work sits in museums throughout the world. One would think I have achieved success, but daily I receive letters from the ignorant masses chiding me for my portrayal of ugliness. They err. My sculptures portray the beauty and power in raw emotion.

My latest piece I call “The Celebration.” Mrs. Humphrey Wyndham commissioned it for her daughter’s wedding. I knew the woman was buying my art not because she liked it, but because my art was a status symbol. The New York Times doesn’t write up insignificant artists. I also knew I would teach her the depth and complexity of my art. When she came to see me, Mrs. Wyndham acted happy, but I could see the despair etched into the lines of her face. No amount of cosmetic surgery can hide worry and care. She smiled, joked, laughed even, but I knew better than to believe this pretense. She was miserable.

I told Mrs. Wyndham I needed her to pose for me. I needed her to wear the dress she would wear to the wedding. I needed to see her as she saw herself on her daughter’s wedding day. She came one Saturday morning to my studio.

I‘ve perfected a technique of bronze work—a reverse mold technique whereby I dip a frozen object into a vat of melted ore and coat it with the metal. The objet d’art comes out as a nearly perfect replica of the frozen subject. Liquid nitrogen is my quick freeze agent. One must quick freeze to retain the essence of the subject. I’ve had a room especially designed to contain the process.

I bade Mrs. Wyndham take a seat in the room while I set up a camera to capture her for reference when she wasn’t able to sit. She never questioned my excuse to leave the chamber. As soon as the liquid nitrogen started pouring in, she screamed, twisting in pain, her eyes wide in horror. Less than a minute later, I had the perfect specimen. The freezing process captured her anguish flawlessly. It even caught the delicate swish of her skirt as she tried to escape the cold. The bronzing process blunted not an iota of her sweet torment, the true essence of her nature.

The wedding of Mrs. Wyndham’s daughter went on as planned. The family couldn’t delay it for Mrs. Wyndham’s disappearance, although I’ve been told the wedding was more somber than celebratory. My statue was delivered as promised to the bride and groom at the reception. The bride shed a few tears at my pièce de résistance. She really did turn out remarkably well.

I wonder if it might bring comfort to Mrs. Wyndham’s daughter to know her mother had attended the wedding after all, but I can’t trouble myself over that thought. I can’t be distracted from my search for my next inspiration.