In the Eye of the Beholder

In a small corner of her apartment in East Hampton Martha had given birth to a masterpiece. The colours were vivid, the composition flawless, the light so believable, it was almost like magic. Martha couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten something, so lost was she in the process of creating this little wonder of tender brushstrokes and smudges. She knew, this was the piece that would open the doors into worldwide art recognition for her. Undying praise from a community so competitive, not even the hardiest stockbroker would stay sane for long. Martha's hands sweated excitement just from thinking about the coming evening. She remembered every mark she had put on the canvas in the last few weeks - or was it months? - it was like breathing life into empty space. Space that was now filled for all eternity.

In another area of town Mrs. Pollyweather was preparing the saleroom of Sotheby’s for the coming auction. She had heard about Martha and her work and as a connoisseur and supporter of emerging artists she was determined to score a high price for her piece. She wanted to give the young woman a good head-start in this hard-fought business, she deserved it.

It was still early but Mrs. Pollyweather liked to give herself enough time to acclimate to the room and get in the mood of squeezing money out of people. That’s what her mother used to say, who had been an auctioneer herself. A keen woman, strict but also warm and loving at the same time. Her little black notebook was still an important part of Mrs. Pollyweathers routine. It contained every sale her mother and later she herself had made in the past. As usual she laid it on the podium next to the hammer and took her time to look over the numbers. Reminding herself of the sums that she and her mother had already achieved was the best way to get into the mindset of a salesperson.

Meanwhile Martha tried to find something she could wear for the occasion. It was one of these dreaded things she actually didn’t want to spend a single thought on, but she knew it was important today. A lot of shirts and dresses went over her head and back up again until she finally decided on something daring that fit her artistic soul. But what might be a questionable taste for now would be a booming trend soon, Martha was sure of it.

She still had a few hours left before the auction started. The thought of putting on some make-up crossed her mind and before she knew it she found herself in front of the mirror with lots of colourful lipsticks at hand. Her mother had used to wear the same colours. She wasn’t sure if they suited her as well, but it didn’t really matter, because today she would be bold and attempt the same warm lipstick-smile her mother used to throw at her.

At Sotheby's Mrs. Pollyweather started to welcome the first bidders. The earliest arrivals always were the experienced ones that either bought out of a deep love for art or for a means of investment. Mrs. Pollyweather didn’t care for what reasons someone bought, as long as the checks cleared at the end of the day. She gave each of them a handshake and smile before she assigned them to their usual spots. Mr. Theodore - he preferred to be called by his first name - at the window side, because he suffered from an unusually high body temperature. Mrs. Cassant in the last row near the door, because she liked to go to the powder room between artworks and didn’t appreciate walking too far for that. There was also Mr. Prismane, a curious older man with flamboyant attire who liked to sit on a different chair every time. He was the odd one that probably every auction had at least one of, but he was a benign fellow nonetheless.

After some minutes a few new faces started to mingle with the regulars. There was for example a Mrs. Locket that certainly looked like she had a lot of money to spend. And also a Mr. Ringer that Pollyweather had never seen before. He didn’t wear a suit, but that didn’t have to mean anything. The biggest wallets were wrapped in the worst attire at times. She sat the two newcomers in the front row to have an eye on them and thus it was all set. Mrs. Pollyweather went behind her podium, laid one hand on her notebook for reassurance and welcomed the bidders for this evening's auction. Let the games begin, she thought, when the first piece was carried in by white-gloved hands.

Martha entered the auction house shortly after the bidding had already started. It was a bit cliché, but she thought it was the right move, so she just went with it. She stood next to the stage, out of sight of the guests, and waited patiently while a wooden pietà changed place with a vanitas that changed place with a cubism painting and so on. A truly wonderful collection, it was an honor to be among them. But Martha now actually started to feel a little bit of anxiety. The bidders were fidgeting a lot on their seats and seemed to long for the end of the auction. After all, it was business as usual for most of them.

But her worries were unfounded, for when Martha’s masterpiece was brought out onto the stage the audience fell silent. Pollyweather took a dramatic pause before giving her cue for bidding and from then on the room was on fire. Mr. Prismane could hardly hold his horses while Mr. Theodore broke out into a heavy sweat from lifting his short and massive arms more than usual. To Pollyweathers surprise however especially the two newcomers, Mrs. Locket and Mr. Ringer, showed remarkable interest in the piece, as if feeling a personal connection to it. The numbers went up like yeast dough in July. 9.000, 12.000, 16.500. It was more money than Martha would have ever dreamed of, she wasn’t even sure how many zeros the numbers had. Finally Mrs. Pollyweather’s hammer went down at 20.000 Dollar. How many gummy bears could one buy for 20.000 Dollar? Martha bet it was a lot.

She was running out onto the stage in exhilaration, wanting to thank her highest bidder, when suddenly Mr. Ringer’s cell phone rang. After a short look onto it Martha’s father said that he really had to take that call and left the living room in a hurry while knocking Teddy Theodore from his chair. He was sorry, like usual, but the game was disrupted nonetheless and Mrs. Cassant was once again just a doll and Mr. Prismane just a stuffed unicorn. But Martha’s disappointment was quickly forgotten when her mother put her painting up on the fridge and gave her that warm lipstick-smile of hers. After she had tucked her in for the night Martha mused about all the kinds of sweets she would buy from her parents for the Monopoly money she got. One day it would all be real, she thought, she just had to hold onto the dream.