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.
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