She was the most wonderful artist; her exhibitions rang with praise.
“Such diversity in the strokes!”
“I love the finger prints, adds texture and really comments well on the advertise of society.”
“Never have I seen such dynamism in the finger painting medium.”
The art world loved. Every piece in the exhibition sold for thousands and found homes in luxurious guest suites, powder rooms and up market coffee places.
However, the success came at a price. The finger painter ended her life in a live performance finger painting using her own blood as she slit her wrists on stage. It was obviously a comment on how art was as valuable as life itself and the audience accepted that.
After her body was carried away and the patrons returned home to look upon their paintings, they instantly summoned dealers to gain some perspective on the value of the piece. The common consensus was that the finger paintings were now worthless, as canvases smeared with shit lose all meaning when there is no crazed finger painter telling people what they mean.