Short Story: The Four Artists

There once were four artists, whose exact names I do not remember. Let's say their names were Jim, Joe, Jack and Jill. Each one of them had his (and her) own area of expertise: Jim was a writer, Joe was a painter, Jack was a composer, and Jill was a director. The four artists were friends since a long time, and used to meet in a quiet café each Sunday afternoon to talk about world affairs, their personal endeavours and all kinds of philosophical nonsense.

One sunny summer day, the four met at the café as usual, but each one of them had a sad expression on his (and her) face. At first, there was silence at the table. Then Jim sighed, and said:

"I have written over twenty short stories and published them in various local papers. Although I have sent my work to larger newspapers, they have all rejected my work, calling it controversial and too avant-garde.

Now, I am pretty sure that my stories are excellent, and that those guys merely lack taste. I was thinking, perhaps a larger count of pages would attract interest. A novel could be sold directly and on its own. It would not have to fit a particular scope.

So I sat this Saturday in front of my desk and stared at a blank piece of paper. Not a single thought worthy of being pinned down came up. I believe I am out of good ideas."

To all this the others listened and nodded here and there, for they were facing similar troubles.

Joe had bought an enormous canvas, but had spent two days merely standing in front of it and doing nothing but mixing colors, his visionary abilities blocked by his aspiring intentions.

Jack was in pains to write his first musical, but he had not even decided the name of the protagonist. No matter what chords and melodies he tried on his piano, they sounded dull and pointless.

Jill however, was filming material like a madman (or rather: a madwoman). She had collected over sixteen hours of material, but admitted that there was no script. Although the material was intended to inspire the subject of a new script, most of it were shots from outside of her window to the backyard. Jill said that it would be possible to make another movie about a backyard, but that it would hardly beat Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece "Rear Window".

They were desperate. Again, silence crept in as they stared on the table, idly stirring imaginary sugar in their white coffees. Swarms of dust curled up in warm air. Spoons quietly tinkled in latte glasses. Then Jill broke the silence and began to talk slowly:

"I believe I found a solution to our problem. Now please hear me out. It may sound a little nuts, but it could work. I want to do a documentary about you, Jack, as you write that musical. We can do interviews, where you talk about your inspirations, how you get your ideas, and so on."

"That sounds nice", said Jack, "but that is hardly going to solve our problem. I still do not have a subject for my musical yet, so there is hardly anything to chat about, besides that me in a movie is a ridiculous idea. I am nobody. A movie about me would be", he searched his mind for an appropriate comparison, "like a musical about Jim!"

Jill smiled at Jack and nodded. Jim made a puzzled face. "You must be out of your mind?", said Jack. And then Joe began to laugh, harder and harder, until tears came out his eyes, and the others could not help themselves but to join in. Still chuckling, trying to wipe his tears, Joe said: "I know what to fill my canvas with now." And then, finally, even Jim understood.

What had started as a regular get-together was now a conspirative meeting, full of lively contemplations about goals and details. No tinkles were heard anymore. In the evening, the table was left and empty, but four souls were on their way home, filled with enthusiasm and ardour.

Not much needs to be said about the future of these four. Jim won the national book award for his novel "How to Picture a Movie", a moving love story about an obsessed painter who paints a director at work, over and over again.

It was rumored that the painters character in the book was written after Joe, who toured internationally with his exposition "Her Creative Eye". His paintings were vivid and colorful impressions of a directors work, standing behind the camera, changing her script, interviewing people. It was astounding how breathtakingly accurate he captured facial expressions and gestures within a few strokes.

Since the paintings had a style similar to the late Claude Manet, it was hard to make out faces, but if you looked at the images with pinched eyes, the director looked a bit like Jill, who had just presented her latest documentary in Cannes, titled "Six Months of Melody", a film about the making of a musical.

As promised, the movie was about Jack, from his early experiments on the piano to the final show that premiered on Broadway. His musical was about the struggles of a passionate writer and ended with an ecstatic parade where the protagonist would receive the national book award. The press hailed "Of Lines and Pages" as a joyous and inspiring experience.

Despite all success, the four friends never ceased to meet on Sundays, where they would devise future conspiracies of artistry, but never put any plan into action, no matter how great it was. There was no point in scaling a mountain that they had already peaked. As the grandeur of their ideas provided sufficient satisfaction, their laughter was now the only gift they could give to the world.