The Artist

1,000 Words





Jakob Graham tugged at the bow tie that threatened to strangle him. He was used to the crowd of patrons that thronged his openings, but he still felt uncomfortable in his tux.

The people made their way to him with their complements and whispers of the paintings they had purchased. He smiled so much his cheeks were quivering from the strain.

“Successful opening, my man.” David squeezed Jakob’s shoulder and stood next to him. “We sold all of the paintings and I have been asked if you would be interested in doing some commission work.”

“No. I only paint what I feel or experience.”

“You don’t know what you are missing. There is a lot of money to be made painting the whims of the wealthy.” David turned to face him. “What is it about these paintings that is so secretive? You never tell anyone where you get your inspiration and you rarely give interviews. Is someone else painting these and you are just the front person?” He accused.

“You wish for a story like that. No, I paint them all.” He held out his reddened hands where he had practically scrubbed the skin off trying to get the paintremoved.

“Then why the secret?”

“What secret? You get what you see. I go out to the country and paint what I see. What is so secretive about that?” Jakob shoved his hands into his pants pockets and walked toward one of the tables where a caterer was clearing the last of the appetizers. He snagged a plate and some food. He wasn’t hungry but it was a diversion.

“You paint ghosts and people are buying them sight unseen before I can list them. Are these paintings hexed? Or are you putting a spell on these people when they come in here?’

“If I was, you are sure making a lot of money, so what are you complaining about?”

“If I could get you to make them buy some my other artist’s work, I would cut you in on the deal and a few more people would be as rich as you.” David watched Jakob for a reaction. He wasn’t sure what the score was, but there was something odd going on. “Take the painting with a broken tractor; it isn’t just the tractor, it is the action of all the field hands, farmer and animals. It is as if you are looking at something that is actually happening. I can almost hear the little girl calling her dad in for lunch. She has it all spread out on a checkered cloth for them.”

“That one was special. It is very detailed. I saw it all as it was happening.”

“In your mind.” David added.

“There too. I can hear Barbara yelling for Leo; that’s her dad.”

David leaned against the counter and crossed one Corinthian leather loafer over the matching one. “You talk as if you were actually there. These paintings look as if they took place in the thirty’s or forty’s. Long before you were even thought of.”

“True, but I must have an old soul, because I see things as they must have been back then.” He sat the empty plate on the tray of dirty dishes and started walking toward the door. “David it was a fine feast and show. I know you will handle all the business that went on tonight. Send me a copy. I am going to take a vacation for a while. I’ll see if I can get inspired again.”

“Listen, keep your cell on, I may want to talk to you to see how you are doing.” He hollered at Jakob’s back, but the door closed before he had the last words out.

Jakob didn’t like cell phones. Odd for a man in his thirty’s. He had walked into David’s gallery with a couple of paintings and some photograph’s of his other work. Immediately David could see the attention to detail and the potential on the market. He had signed Jakob to an exclusive contract and they came to an agreement on the number of prints; one thousand of each painting. David had fought hard for more options, but Jakob held firm.

When he set up that first Gallery Open for Jakob Graham, no one knew who he was. Most just came as a favor to David or to get some free food. What they got was far more. Every one of the paintings sold. The highest price went for the painting of a flying model plane manned by a father and son ghost, in an early sunrise.

The same thing happened for the next show. There were demands for invitations and bribes to be on the guest list. This last show was smaller but all the paintings were spoken for. David hoped Jakob was going to paint his heart out.



Jakob reached the top of the hill and looked back down the path. It wound around the hill to his dusty truck. Beyond the truck the ruts disappeared into woods and eventually to a highway that he had found by accident. Or was it?

He turned and took a few steps toward the edge of the bluff. He knew what was below; a forgotten farm. It was more than that. In this invisible valley was his inspiration. It was his love and his family.

That first day he walked down into the valley and set up his easel, was the beginning of a new life. The people were real but lived in another time and plane. He alone could travel between the two worlds. The paintings were about the people but the land was what he saw in the present world.

“Are you coming?” A woman stood at the edge of the road below him. She was carrying his son. He waved and looked back at the super powered truck with a barrel of diesel strapped behind the cab.

“I’ll be right there.” He braced and ran down into the past.