Scary Good

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Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Scary Good
June 13, 2003

“Guess what? I know this artist.” Billy said. “We went to school together.”

I stepped up for a closer look. A boat picture.

“I didn’t know he was an artist.” He laughed. “Maybe he isn’t. Or maybe I am.”

We laughed.

We were at the National Gallery on Grand Cayman Island where they had an art exhibit that was created by Caymanians. It was rare to find a collection of pieces where the artists were all from the Cayman Islands, and not expatriates who had relocated here from other places.

“Look at this.” Darlin-man said, showing me a photograph of Cuba.

“What about it?”

“You want to go to Cuba one day, right?”

“Your point is…”

“You can look at photographs. It’ll save you the trip.” He laughed.

“Hey.” I warned. “I’m glad you can see that art depicts life.” I moved close to his ear so I could shout the next part. “Art will never replace my travels.”

I left the men and started searching for my favorite piece of artwork. You know. The one piece that I would buy if I had enough money. You know. The favorite piece that would hang in my apartment if I had more wall space. I considered every painting a possibility.

No. I wasn’t one of those people who traveled to the ocean to buy paintings of water. I know. People do that. That would be a bit much for my land locked state of mind. But. If I were looking for something watery, I would have nabbed Charles Long’s piece. He had other paintings there with lots of color and detail but I was drawn to the simplicity of the man standing next to the tree looking out over the blue water. Yes. A simple picture depicting a simple Caribbean Island life. This picture spoke volumes.

I went into the next room. There was a large painting that took up most of a wall. It was the kind of art that most people would find likable. You could imagine it hanging in a doctor’s office or the entry way to a large building. There were lots of little shapes held together by copper paint. Some of the shapes were recognizable as in the comb, others let your mind play suggestively.

“This is the kind of art that everyone likes.” I said. “Like Kool-Aide.”

“Yes. You’re right.” A voice said from behind me. “That was the judge’s choice for best of show.”

“Yes.” I said, looking it over again. “That wouldn’t make anyone itchy.”

She laughed. “I’m Leslie, the director.”

We spent a few minutes with introductions, and then I set out to try to figure out which painting was up for the people’s choice award. Leslie confirmed my choice.

An oil abstract with lots of shades of blue. “Yup.” I said. “Everyone likes blue. In the world of writing we might call it ‘nice.”

I noticed the large painting next to the blue favorite. It was called, The Scream and was painted by Luelan Bodden.

“Look at that.” I said, stepping backwards.

“What?” Darlin-man asked.

“That painting. Look at that. Who could paint something like that?”

“A painter?” Darlin-man suggested.

“No. I mean. Look at that. He broke all the rules. The faces are all over the place. Some are in focus. Some are out of focus. There’s no color where there should be. This is a picture that gets under your skin.”

Billy came over to consider the painting that broke rules. He liked that idea.

“Can you imagine what this guy is like? He must be the most tormented person on earth.” I continued.

Leslie nodded her head. “He said he was going through a rough time.”

“Rough? That has to be an understatement.”

The painting was alive. Really. Alive. You could hear the screams reflecting off the canvas and feel the vibrations as those screeches echoed out into the room. I tried to rub away the goose bumps from my arms.

I mean. This painting was intentionally created to make the viewer FEEL anxious…. Like watching a horror movie and waiting and waiting for the monster to jump out to attack the girl. Believe me. Those were not happy faces. The sound radiating off the canvas was deafening. I took another step backwards.

“That painting should be in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.” I said, tensely.

Leslie agreed. “He’s an incredible artist.”

Darlin-man laughed at me. “So. Is this the one you would hang in your house?”

“No way. No way. I’d have nightmares. This could never hang where I live.”

“Oh. Come on. You could hang it in a hall.” Billy teased.

“No. This needs to be in a museum, where little children would always have a chaperone when they were near it. That painting is scary good.”

Leslie sighed. “I’ve been encouraging him to paint as much as he can.”

Yeah. He needs to paint. And. I think that it’s great that he is recording the inner workings of the mind. But. Man. Don’t you wonder what’s making the artist scream like that?

Oh. I know what you’re thinking….

It must be a woman.

(For more information on the National Gallery of the Cayman Islands, check out their website at www.nationalgallery.org.ky )

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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