Fiction - Rescued

I saw you drive by and tried to look the other way to avoid your line of sight. That’s difficult when you’re stuck on a canvas like me and wedged sideways in a garbage can. Let’s face it, even though I’m one dimensional, my measurements are 36” x 36”. Pretty zoftig by today's standards and hard to hide.  

Unknown artist: photograph by Nancy Javier

I’d just gotten out of the basement. For twenty years I was shuffled in a pile of half-finished paintings—a stack of poor judgment and bad taste; a heap of crappy art with mold growing on the fake Picasso at the bottom threatening to engulf us all. Mr. Artist, pardon my sarcasm, painted and repainted me trying different styles—take a look at them below my text. Can you imagine how I felt. I should be thankful, I guess that I ended up at the top of the heap—the others are still there with the junk.

Feeling the sun on my face that morning when he took me outside was the best thing that happened in decades. At first, I relished the warmth and the light but later, I realized where I was. The sign to my right said FRE, and I hoped it said, Freida, because that was my name. But the wind blew the paper sign and I could see it said FREE. I realized I wasn’t on an easel (sometimes it's hard to tell). I was so humiliated. FREE? I’d hit bottom.

When I heard you brake, I cringed and if you’ve never seen a painting cringe, you can’t imagine. And then I realized the engine was going into reverse. A shudder ran over my canvas. Here we go into a thrift store, I thought. That’s what happens when you turn FREE. I’d almost rather have remained in the moldy basement than plunked on a shelf at the Angel Shop. Once, I spent a humiliating six months in the store being pawed over and rejected, before he took me back. Every day, thrifters peered into my face trying to see if there was “something of value” on the canvas, rejecting me to buy a cheap, chipped cup or a bad print.

 

Now hanging on the wall in your living room I can recall those days and laugh. Do you notice me chuckling? I try not to do it when you’re around because I know you like me as I was . . . kind of sad and thoughtful. Do I worry about mold, or the Angel Shop or that tortured painter? No! My biggest concern is what we’re watching on Netflix tonight!

Something artsy-fartsy? I hope so.

He painted me like this....

And then he tried this.

Then, multiples.

psychedelia....

He ruined my eyes!!