Art Sophisticates Wear Too Much Black

A sequel to "Rooftops"
 

Logan knew the moment he walked in that he was in the wrong place.
It was the right room in the right museum, but it was the wrong
place, nevertheless. In his jeans and cowboy boots, his denim jacket
and his big silver belt buckle, a blue chambray shirt and a straw
cowboy hat, he was definitely not the sort of patron this particular
exhibit attracted. Everyone else in the room was dressed entirely in
black, with little round rose-tinted glasses perched on their
upturned noses, and he even saw a few black berets.

He felt like turning around and leaving, but that would be pussy,
wouldn't it? So he strode boldly into the room, thumbs hooked into
his belt loops. It wasn't hard to find the right painting—there was
a pretty big flock of black-bellied art warblers ogling it, chirping
to each other in tones of the enlightened. He listened to some of
their talk, and wondered what they'd be saying if they knew shit from
Shinola about anything.

"So you see, the child himself has undergone a metamorphosis from the
earlier works he is featured in. He is no longer a creature of dark
shadows and lurid poses. The artist has, at long last, drawn the
child into the light of God and shown him the peace of faith—the
cross he wears at his throat signifies this new covenant."

Logan couldn't help it. He snorted out loud.

"Problem, sir?" the speaker—obviously the cock-rooster of this
particular flock—said. His face was all set to be disparaging, but
he must have seen something he liked in the broad-shouldered
Canadian, in spite of his gauche apparel. His demeanor became
fawning and conciliatory at once.

"Sorry, bub. Allergic to bullshit," he said.

Attracted or not, the cock-rooster was not used to having his
artistic acumen mocked in this abrupt manner. "I beg your pardon,
sir, but—"

"This kid is in some of the other portraits too?"

Somewhat mollified by Logan's carefully respectful question, the cock-
rooster pointed out three other paintings. "Most people don't
realize it. In fact, most people never even look at the other
portraits this artist did at all. This one stands out so sharply in
comparison, and the others are pretty poorly executed. You see,
though, that the facial structure is roughly the same in all four
paintings, and this particular subject is treated differently from
the others. He always painted his eyes to look very demonic."

Wolverine said nothing. He was trying to look at the boy in the
pictures, but he found he could not force his eyes to linger long.
The poses were lurid, and in one of them Gambit was wearing a studded
dog collar and a chain.

"You see, though, how different the subject looks in these three as
opposed to this last one. His expression is sullen, unrepentant,
even lascivious in spite of his youth. The quintessential sinner.
In this last painting the subject has changed. No longer does he
attempt to seduce the onlooker with promises of immoral delights. He
sits not in the shadow of sin but in the light of Heaven itself. His
face is beatific, serene. The artist has drawn him off the path of
darkness and shown him the love of God. Bit of a corny theme, but
art doesn't HAVE to be existential."

"This one's untitled," Logan growled, inspecting the identification
plate beside the painting. "The other ones are titled. What's the
difference with this one?"

The cock-rooster was obviously tickled that Logan asked. "That's an
interesting story. You see, the artist died of a heart attack before
the paint was even dry."

Logan turned abruptly. "What?"

He giggled. "It's true. And it gets better. According to local
legend, he died after throwing a demon out his studio window. They
say the creature landed on it's feet, FROM FOUR STORIES UP, and
looked back up at him and he just dropped dead."

Logan stepped closer to the painting, searching the boy's painted
eyes with his dark brown ones.

"I love New Orleans. It's just too quaint, the way everything has to
be legendary," the cock-rooster said, standing way too close. "If
you're really interested in the whole story, I could do a little
research and get back to you…if you'll give me your number."

Logan looked at him for a moment. "I don't have one," he said, and
walked away.

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Mac O'Roni

"After all dis time--an' I still manage to impress myself."

-Gambit, Uncanny X-Men #334
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