The plague artist
If you're reading this right now, it means I am no longer of this world. Either I've committed suicide or the Plague Artist has grown bored with my existence. I suppose it doesn't matter which. This isn't really a warning more than it is my will. I first encountered the Plague Artist on my outing to a local art festival. While I wouldn't call myself a connoisseur, I'd like to think as an art school graduate I have a fine eye for the... obscure. The festival was somewhat stagnate. Not that it was bad, but very few artists stood out. I think the problem was that as I live in Florida, a vast majority of the artwork of the artwork consisted of animal and landscapes; but I digress. The first thing that drew my attention to him was his display. Each display stood roughly five feet from each other with their work at the front and their signs at the top or side. Some had huge gaudy booths while others had a blanket on the ground. He on the other hand sat with his legs crossed between two booths on the concrete with his work scattered about randomly. As I approached I noticed the crudeness of his work. They were choppy sketches on sheets of loose-leaf paper. His appearance also struck me as odd. He wore a sweatshirt with various patterns airbrushed onto it, a pair of acid wash jeans, and a white pair of snickers (no branding of any kind). His hood was perched on his head but his long, black, gangly hair reach past it and touched his stomach. His gazed was on the ground so you couldn't see his face. 'Hello?' I say as I wave my hand in front of his face. He raised his head and what I saw made me jump slightly. On his face was a mask. One half was a simplistic drawing of a smiling girl and the other half was a more detailed drawing of grinning beast. The girl was right-side up and the beast was upside down. 'Does anything here catch your eye?' He asked tilting his head slightly. Now, I've been referring to the Plague Artist as a 'he' but in truth, I've only been doing so for the sake of convenience. Even now, I'm still not sure which gender he (she, it?) is. Absolutely nothing about his build or voice alluded to it either. 'He' (To which I'll refer to him at this point on) was very thin, his clothing practically draping over him and his voice sounded like it could belong to either a man or a woman. 'Um... many things actually' I say still gazing at his bizarre apparel. 'Anything pertaining to what's on display?' I looked down at the scattered sheets of loose-leaf. His artwork consisted of rough sketches of people and landscapes. When I say 'rough', that's me being kind. It looked as though he scratches a pencil across the paper until shapes formed. Still, I couldn't help be curious to why he thought that this was good enough to bring to an art festival. 'I'm curious... this style of yours.... is it bred by choice of limitation?' I meant no harm in my words, but there wasn't really any way I could faze the question in a way that wouldn't come off as offensive. I assumed that I had angered him when he just stared at me for a few seconds before laughing. 'Such is the mindset of the mortal man, to dismiss that which doesn't appeal to his primitive senses' 'I-I'm not dismissing your work, I just-' 'Work?' He laughed. 'Yet another fool crosses my path I see. Art... is not work. It is the extension of one's being. To put it in the category of 'work' would imply that's something that requires exertion. To put effort into art is... sickening' A chill went up my spine. He had a very calm and articulate why of speaking which was further amplified by the genuine venom in his tone. Something told me that a change of topic was needed. 'So what brings you here anyway?' 'Are you implying that I do not belong here? This is an art festival is it not? Are you implying that my creations are not art?' I opened my mouth to defend myself when he spoke once more. 'As I said, your senses are primitive. When you look at my creations you see only what your mind can comprehend. Don't be upset. This fault is naturally ingrained within you due to your mortality.