The Art Dealer comes to call
(excerpt from Morgwenna) A Cornish Tale
He knew about colours, that was part of his job. This he thought came under the description of ‘shocking pink’ – it certainly was shocking. As he was taking in the ‘apparition’ of the lady before him in her pink wool suit and orange hair, he was suddenly snapped back into consciousness. ‘Did she say worms?’
“So, you see it was the worms... not me”
“Pardon?”
“Well you must understand, they can only do it while they are sober.”
“Sober? Does that mean they get drunk?”
“It is unfortunate... mmm ... yes ...but you see the pigment makes them tipsy and then they just.... well fall over or off the canvas.”
“Sorry,... could you start again?”
Morgwenna was used to this. In her experience the officials she met were certainly not the brightest lights in the harbour. Dim in her opinion was the best description. Mr Greene, however exuded something else as well, something she couldn’t put her finger on. Which mean’t he was now being tolerated.
“As I said the worms do the paintings, not me.”
He couldn’t help himself but he felt that he was entering into a conversation that it’s absurdity besieged him, and he somehow couldn’t avoid saying...
“So,...do you train them?”
“No, ... how absurd! They just paint.” Morgwenna said in a matter of fact tone.
“Do you ... encourage them?” he asked hopefully.
“No... they just get in the paint and then..... just paint.........but, then I do have to make sure they don’t get tipsy.”
“Sorry, but how do they get drunk exactly? I mean in my vast experience, paint does not contain alcohol” that he thought, sounded a bit too pompous.
“Like I said, I used what I had available at the time, and the most colourful was the cocktail bar I keep for visitors.”
He could feel his jaw dropping.
This was the usual appearance that Morgwenna had to deal with ............ and so she found herself explaining again.
“As usual I had left it to the last minute, and they were desperate for the paintings... well I suppose actually anything would have done...... they were really desperate!”
His face looked blank.
“Oh do keep up! ......... I had promised the village Art & Craft Fayre some paintings..... Well, I did after Mrs Pumfrey came a nagging......and I thought, ... well, I thought that paintings would be the quickest and easiest thing to do. So I went inside and the worms told me that to save time they would do it. Don’t you think that was kind of them?”
“Yes, .... yes”
Mr Greene replied weakly, wondering what he had done to deserve this assignment. She was still talking.
“Knowing how busy I have been,........ that was very thoughtful of my nephew too don’t you think?”
He nodded hoping that it would all become clear soon.
“....and the only colours I had to hand were in the cocktail bar I keep for visitors....”
Morgwenna paused for a moment.
“By the way, would you like a cocktail? ......... I rather like the ‘wicked lady’ what do you think?”
Morgwenna looked at the uninspiring gentleman in front of her all done up in tweeds and bowler hat.
“Hmmm, perhaps not,”
She pondered for a while appraising what she observed and then came to a decision. Morgwenna busied herself concocting a mixture using various coloured liquids from small intricately designed bottles.
“There that should make all things clear” she murmured to herself.
And then she handed a delicately upturned pyramid glass containing a soft brown liquid to him.
He had been watching the scene played out in front of him and thought to himself that he did not know of many people who had a cocktail bar in their front garden wishing well.
‘How novel!’
“Oh it’s for the Gnomes, they like a tipple now and again while they’re working.”
She replied to his thoughts.
Art expert’s in contrast to the paintings they deal in, are quite sombre and serious creatures. This was proving too much for Mr Greene. He outstretched his hand and duly took the cocktail glass and proceeded to sip its dull contents. It tasted of sweet vanilla, which then transcended into a coconut flavour which made him feel quite soporific. This was a cosy duvet sensation, he could almost feel the feathers. He snuggled down and he would have quite liked to have stayed there but like a bolt it went straight to a flavour not dissimilar to hot chilli pepper. Mr Greene spluttered, coughed and almost choked. It quite cleared his head.
“Yes ...... I call that my fluffy surprise.”
“And what about your nephew? How does he fit into the paintings?”
“Oh no....my nephew isn’t ‘IN’ the paintings oh no! .............. he just, let me see how shall I say this?.......mmmm.......let us just say he encouraged them.. yes he encouraged them to help. It was his idea.”
Mr Greene pulled out his notepad and pen and thought
‘Had better make some notes just in case there is anything I could write, which would be believable.’
“So, Morgwenna, can I call you Morgwenna?”
She looked at him.
“It’s de Milner......Miss de Milner”
“So what happened next?”
“Well I never expected to win the prizes .... Nor did I expect to sell the paintings,... and nor did I expect you to come down from London.”
“I feel such a fake really ....as I told you, it was the worms.”
“Can I look at the paintings now?”
“Oh yes.....follow me”
In the village she was regarded as outrageously eccentric and so was completely accepted in good Cornish tradition as one of their own. However not many of the villagers had wanted to venture this far into her home. They mostly stood at the garden gate. Drawing lots on who would deliver various messages or invites. They also had a preoccupation about her front garden Gnomes. Numerous comments were made about their rising numbers and the various ‘unusual poses’ they were doing that were not available or suitable for the shops.
So with a thrill of excitement Morgwenna pulled open the door to allow this man into her home and off her doorstep. She thought perhaps she might show him her newly decorated bathroom. It had been done out in the style of ‘Homes and Gardens’ and she was quite proud of the result, the grass was rather fetching. It had been a long time since a man had come into her home and it was sending her all of a dither.
As Mr Greene progressed through Morgwenna’s home he had wished that he had stayed outside. The interior was quite unnerving. It was a mixture of styles and colours with a heavy dose of black splattered about. He thought to himself that she was in desperate need of a cleaner there was cobwebs everywhere with incumbent spiders. Morgwenna stopped outside a modest white door, she opened it slowly and checked inside before permitting Mr Greene in. It had been a large white room but was now covered in a multitude of splashed colour all mixing together to create new exciting ones. In the centre of the room was a row of easels, which each held up a finished painting.
“and here are the paintings?”
As Mr Greene said this he rushed over to the first one taking out of his jacket a large magnifying glass. He proceeded to scrutinise each painting in detail. Morgwenna observed him from the door jamb that she was leaning on. The whole episode was becoming tiresome.
‘If only that art expert’s car hadn’t broken down just outside the village the day of the fayre.’ She mused and it gradually dawned on her that...
‘This could be trouble’
Unfortunately for her the car had broken down and while he was waiting for the mechanic to fix it he had wandered into the village. It was with an expectation of very little that he had gone into the Arts & Crafts Fayre expecting mediocrity and finding an exciting new talent. He had been so overcome that he bought the entire output of Morgwenn’a worms and had them transported to London. At the time she had found the whole thing quite amusing as none of her paintings had ever been shown a modicum of interest until then. After all her correspondence courses over the years the worms had proven to be better than her at their first attempt. The man had been so excited he had told the whole art world, and now it seems everyone had lost their senses.
“yes, yes.... very good ... such texture and transparency, ... such good use of colour!”
Mr Greene was now in a world he understood and was expounding delightfully.
“Yes, ... very amusing your story, you artists ... you do, have your ways!!! Yes I can certainly see what Mr Forkyski had seen in your paintings... any more?”
Mr Greene had obviously come to the conclusion that Morgwenna de Milner was ever so slightly but now very attractively ...bonkers. Once he had decided that this was the case, he felt quite at ease. The category of an artist who was on holiday from their mind was one he could relate to.
It was Morgwenna’s turn to be dumbstruck.
“Err no..... only the ones you see, the worms are now on detox.”
“Well then I’ll take the lot..... will 2 be ok for them?
“2?”
“Will 2k be enough?”
“Err yes?”
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
“Good!”
He seemed very pleased with himself. He put his hat on with a tap, bade her a hasty farewell and was abruptly making his way out of the house. As he was negotiating the gate he called out.
“I’ll send someone to collect them, say Thursday?”
He had escaped, leaving her quite speechless except to say...
“They are only earthworms.... what is so special about earthworms?”
“Is he gone Auntie Morg?”
From the door opposite the art room a tussled head popped out.
“Tell me Zax, what is a ‘k’ apparently I’m getting two of them.”
“Money, Aunt!” came the exasperated reply.
“Did you try your chat-up lines we had been practising?” he said excitedly.
“err no,... he just wanted to talk about the paintings.”
“You let a good chance like that slip by! ...Did you talk about the worms?” he asked accusingly.
“Ooops! Sorry... yes I did.”
“AUNTIE! ...... Not the worms! .... I told you, in my world... their world, worms just don’t paint!”
Zax her young nephew was feeling vexed. This was proving hard work initiating his aunt into the ways of the modern world, without her Skillywiggins, Gnomes and other lost souls of the fabled past.
“It’s ok, Zax ...he thinks I’m nuts any way”
“Tell me, you DID do a potion tho?”
“He had a fluffy surprise”
“So, he will be back then?”
“Oh, yeesssss” she said full of submerged meaning.
Morgwenna’s toes curled up in anticipation, and her regulation boots curled up with them.