Cirque des Freaks and Other Tales of Horror by Julian Lopez

Author:Julian Lopez [Lopez, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635556902
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2020-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Inside the gallery, the spacious walls were filled with colorful canvases of reds, whites, purples, and other vivid colors swirled and meshed together but spaced so you couldn’t analyze or absorb them too quickly. The array was meant to be observed with time and precision so their alluring mysticism erupted with a conjoined force of color blends, angles, and chiaroscuros.

I flashed my Canon between the heads of people as I eavesdropped on the curator and the occasional dignitary.

A tall, slender woman with slick black hair and a matching gown squeezed between me and a couple who stood mesmerized by a large red canvas.

With a hand over her chest, she observed my camera and spoke. “I’ve been fascinated with his art since his last exhibit in Venetia! All of his pieces are simply…fascinating, the way each one has been painted in a different country. His collections have toured through Prague, Paris, Amsterdam, and other countries where Western art reigns. So you can only imagine when I heard he and his art would be here, in downtown Long Beach, of all places, I simply died.”

“Excuse me? Have you met him?”

“You mean Michael no-last-name?”

“That’s right. I’m here reviewing his art. I didn’t know he was making a personal appearance here in Long Beach.”

“Why, yes, and he’s as handsome as his art!” She gestured to the red piece before us. “Simply look at the way those two red angles clash with the white, reddened and alive, as if the white is succumbing to the apex above. His colors are a combination of strange symbiosis. I heard this one came to life in Morocco. I could only dream of what inspired him. Isn’t he the best?”

I remained still, realizing I hadn’t detected the obvious beauty of the colors, and her perceptions somewhat crushed me. After all, who was I to critique someone whom I hadn’t even the slightest clue was making an appearance? Feeling shameful, I looked down at my camera and notepad and whispered to myself, “Time to be professional, Adam.”

“Michael!” the slender female yelped, her index finger directing into the crowd.

Nothing could have surprised me more than when I spotted him. He was the same handsome figure with the alluring eyes I’d seen at the café.

He glanced over, as if aware we were observing him. With one hand in the pocket of his dark slacks, he ambled toward us, no visible emotion on his face. He reached for one of the glasses of red wine on its silver tray.

“My art is better admired and understood with wine,” he said, eyeing me directly as he extended the wine glass. He had a faint accent I couldn’t identify.

I looked to my right, expecting the slender female to notice my blushing, but to my joyous surprise, she had flitted away to annoy someone else. I was left alone with Michael.

I grabbed the wine he offered, eyeing him intently as I extended my hand. “Thank you very much. It’s an honor.”

“You see, being drunk is the only way one can make sense of this shit.

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