How To Be A Badass Detective: Book One by Michael Anderle

Author:Michael Anderle [Anderle, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2021-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The brush, still moist and glistening with the last residue of oil paint, trembled in the Alchemist’s hand. Her eyes stared at the canvas, intense and unblinking.

Is it finished? she wondered. Her mind had been afire with the buzzing, whirling, maddened process of creation, channeling the surplus of artistic life energy she had accumulated into the completion of the work.

I think it might be done at last. It is so close to perfect, but would one final stroke bring it to absolute perfection? Two strokes? Or would that be too much? It takes only a single unnecessary addition to ruin a work of art that would have been truly great without such a mistake. I must pause and think.

She breathed in and out again, keeping the brush in her hand, but stepping away from the canvas. She closed her eyes, counting to fifty. When she opened them again, her mind had calmed, and she was able to perceive the painting afresh.

It was done. It was as close to perfect as she could make it. Her hand, which had ceased trembling around thirty seconds ago, slowly lowered the brush.

“Good,” she stated. She advanced toward the canvas once more, reexamining it up close, and confirmed that her painting—her beautiful tribute to the talent and genius of Luis Domingo—had passed through the birthing process and was now fit to call itself alive.

The Alchemist put the brush down next to her other tools. In a minute, she would have to think about what came next, but first, she would congratulate herself and consider the magnitude of her achievement.

She had recreated the spirit of Domingo’s classic of modern Expressionism. The explicit visual details were slightly different. The central figure was clearly female after leaning toward looking masculine in the original. The blues were less indigo and more turquoise. The patterns in which the energy flowed were not quite the same.

But with Domingo’s help, she had transferred the soul of his painting into another. One that would never be degraded by being bartered at an auction like a chest of drawers or an old car.

He should have known better than to sell it. She smirked, recalling that she had made him pay for his ignorance. The main purpose of what she had done to him, of course, was to ensure that his genius would be passed on and put to good use. However, punishing him for defiling his own vision, as with so many of the others, was a nice added bonus, even if it had taken her a while to get the knife clean again afterward.

The Alchemist sighed and turned away. She had never been as talented an artist as she’d always wanted to be. The passion was there, and the dedication, and apparently a small modicum of inborn ability, but it had been apparent to her since her adolescence that she lacked the potential for true greatness.

What she did have above and beyond what most people possessed was the ability to appreciate art. Even many of the masters seemed unable, as she saw it, to grasp the importance of their own work.

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