The Art Contest

Third place winner in "Short Shots: Official WDC Contest" 


Edith Murgan stood on tiptoes, stretching her skinny frame to peer over the shoulders of the other girls. The chattering group was clustered around a poster on the bulletin board at the Clairmont Art School for Young Ladies. She jumped up and down, trying to see what all the excitement was about.

"Oooh, a contest! A Hallowe'en art contest." exclaimed Genevieve, the most popular girl in the school, who was right in front of the poster. Her svelte figure and expensive clothes always made Edith feel like a bundle of sticks wrapped in rags.

"Read it out loud, Gen," said one of the girls in the back.

"Deadline, Oct. 31; Medium, any; Subject, Hallowe'en; Theme; scary, fear, horror. Prizes: 1st, $100; 2nd $50; 3rd $25."

"This sounds like fun!" said Charmaine, Gen's best friend.

"For sure. I can think of lots of scary Hallowe'en pictures to do. The $100 first prize will, of course, be mine," announced Gen with confidence. "Not that I need the money, you understand, but the prestige of winning will be a pleasant perquisite."

How much help the first prize money--even third prize!--would be to my family, Edith thought, and turned away, missing the last few comments from the group at the poster.

“You know, Genevieve, Murgan McGlurgan is pretty good. She might just be able to win.”

“Poor Edith is no match for me. One way or another, she’ll lose.”

###

If wishes were horses, Edith thought as she set out equipment for the day's class. Clean brushes, fresh palettes, paint sets and thinner on the tables, gessoed canvases and smocks on the easels. Her foster family was loving and kind, but far from wealthy. With their help and support, she had managed to earn a city grant to attend art school, but it didn't cover the whole tuition, and she made up the difference by working for the school. But still, I will do my best.

The group dispersed to their easels and donned their smocks, all chattering about the contest, discussing media and subjects. So far, they had done only perspective studies and a few still life practices in charcoal, acrylic, and oils, so an open contest would be a real challenge.

"Edith, come here," commanded Genevieve from across the room. Edith left her easel. "Look. This brush is not clean. I allow you to clean my personal brushes, but I insist that you do a proper job."

"I'll re-do it for you," Edith said calmly, accepting the offending brush. Both girls knew the brush was perfectly clean, and that Genevieve was just being Genevieve.

###

Each class, after assignments were completed, the students were given time to work on their contest art. By the second week, all had made sketches of their planned work, and most had a rough drawing on canvas to block out position and proportions.

Genevieve was carrying a sludge pot--a jar full of thinned paint from cleaning brushes--from her work station to the wash sink, taking a tour to look at everyone's work. When she came to Edith's easel, she somehow tripped and splattered sludge all over the canvas.

"Oh, how terrible! I am ever so sorry, Edith. I do hope that will clean off." She grabbed a rag from the table and pawed at the canvas, smearing the grey sludge all over the drawing. "You're such a good artist, that was probably going to be the winner. Oh, dear, how clumsy of me." She made sure that only Edith could see her smirk as she sauntered off to join her friends.

"She fools nobody, that one," sniffed Madame Clairmont as she hurried over to survey the damage. "I think she should prenez votre place aujourd'hui at cleanup." Their instructor cheerfully mixed French and English with equal disregard.

"Oh, please, no, don't make her take my cleanup duty today. She'll just hold it against me even more."

"Even so, I will charge her account for a new canvas and gesso. Not that she will care, since her Papa pays for all. But you will not pay."

"Thank you, Madame. Why does Genevieve hate me so?"

"You think it is you she hates? In you, I believe, she sees talent and an ability that she envies."

"Really, Madame? She thinks I have talent and ability?"

"As do I. I think she hates the one she sees dans le miroir. That one she knows is a pretender."

Edith considered this for a moment. "Even so, she takes it out on me. Ah, well, this too shall pass."

"Indeed. But I will, as you say, keep an eye on things."

###

Where on earth is my Hallowe’en canvas? wondered Edith at the start of class. It was her job to rack the canvases after a class, and distribute them at the next. The rack with her name was empty except for last week’s assignment. But she knew she had placed her contest canvas there. With a shrug, she continued her job, thinking that her work would turn up in someone else’s slot. It did not.

Puzzled, Edith circled the classroom and finally spotted a canvas in a corner trash can. The frame was broken and the canvas slashed. She struggled to hold back tears. Genevieve and her cohorts were looking remarkably innocent.

Mme. Clairmont came to glare at them. "Edith, je vous donnerai a new prepared canvas. And you--" she turned to the now giggling Genevieve, Chantal and Charmaine-- "seem to have had a hand in this prank. You will remain après class. And the rest of you, travaillez. To work."

###

“The prize for best Hallowe'en picture is right here," Genevieve assured her friends as they clustered around her canvas at the end of the month. She added the last streaks of Alizarin Claret to the window beside the door of her haunted house and set down her brush. "I give you, my friends, the scariest haunted house ever."

"Definitely spooky," murmured Charmaine. "The red sky looks like some kind of storm from Hell gathering behind it."

"The red windows in the second story look like there's a fire inside the house. Devilish things going on in there, for sure," added Chantal. "And the neon blue and pink around the door are definitely odd. Why those colors, Gen?"

"It's the Devil's party house, of course. Like that club we snuck into last month when I stole my sister's ID."

"Oh, right!" said Charmaine. "The neon lights around the door to the club. What a night that was! Those male strippers were yummy. Maybe that's what's going on in that second floor?"

"The upper story windows look like red glaring eyes, and the door is an open mouth waiting to gobble up innocent trick-or-treaters," said Chantal.

Edith crept around behind the group to see what all the giggles and noise were about. She suppressed a gasp at the vivid colors and dramatic quality of Gen's painting and quickly returned to her own easel, dubiously eyeing her work. It was a stark black-and-white charcoal sketch with tiny hints of carmine.

Gen's wealthy parents had bought her a complete set of tints, including the gorgeous neon paints. Edith made do with the basic colors provided by the school. She shrugged; she had learned at a young age that life was not necessarily fair; it was what it was.

Since they were all finished and there was still time left in class, Gen and her friends drifted around the room to see what the others were doing.

Chantal had done a traditional witch-over-the moon silhouette, a huge orange full moon with the broom-flown witch trailing a diaphanous ragged cloak. In the foreground was a silhouetted picket fence, with a puff-tailed black cat arching its back.

"That's really nice," Genevieve said. "The quintessential Hallowe'en image."

"Are you saying it's trite?"

"Well, maybe a bit. But very well executed."

Charmaine had done a graveyard scene, shadow-speckled with moonlit tombstones, grasping skeletal hands clawing out of the ground, and wispy spirits swirling around the dead-branched trees.

"Now that is really spooky," declared Genevieve. She was going to examine Edith’s work, but a stern-faced Madame made her change course.

"All right, mes artistes, c'est le fin pour aujourd'hui. Clean up time! Allons!"

The students broke into excited chatter as they downed tools. Palette knives and brushes into jars of thinner, palettes stacked in their tub. The canvases left on easels would be gathered and racked to dry for the show next week.

"Au revoire, mes élèves. I see you next week. Shoo! Shoo!"

###

Edith and her foster parents drifted into a corner, keeping out of the way of the swirling crowd. The contest presentation was a party, with wine for the adults, soft drinks for the girls and canapés for all. A committee of local artists and dignitaries had served as judges. The canvases were covered, but prize ribbons were attached.

"We look for many qualities," explained the chief judge at the unveiling. "We look for skill of execution, of course. Placement and proportion are important. Use of color and design will count. But above all, we look for that spark of creativity that marks the true artist.

"Many of today's works are traditional hallowe'en scenes, the kind of thing the students have seen in advertisements and books--the graveyard, the witch-silhouette, the pumpkin patch, the leering jack-o-lantern. It takes great execution to bring one of those overused subjects to the top. So, let us start with the honorable mentions...."

"Third place, then, is this delightful graveyard scene. A bit traditional, true, but the composition is excellent--see here, how the curve of this spirit leads the eye up to the clambering skeleton; note the placement and balance of the content. The execution is also superb." He turned over the name tag on the back of the canvas. "The artist is Chantal de Moins. Chantal, please come up and receive your prize." The audience applauded as a blushing Chantal came up for her $25 check.

"Now let us examine our second place winner." He removed the cloth to reveal Genevieve's haunted house, to murmurs of appreciation and light applause. "Although the treatment is traditional, almost trite, this artist has shown creativity in the use of color, especially the glare of red in the background, and the intriguing neon treatment of the portico and doorway. The proportions and layout are excellent. This artist shows command of technique and has an undoubted future as an illustrator of children's books. Artist is...Genevieve Malcontent. Genevieve, please come forward for your prize."

Again the audience applauded, though there were some titters and mutters of 'children's book illustrator' among the students. Genevieve turned and glared, snatched her check, and stomped back to her chair. A stern-looking man beside her leaned over and shook her shoulder.

"Now, our first place winner. This artist used a minimalist style to excellent result." He removed the cover. The audience sat silent, studying the canvas. A charcoal sketch of a little girl in a princess costume, crouched and cowering, filled most of the canvas. Her hat and veil lay beside her, apparently knocked off. Her back was to the right edge of the canvas, her drawn-up feet to the bottom, her arms up protectively over her head, and her eyes... Her eyes were fixed on something top left, out of frame, something that clearly terrified her. "The posture, the drape of the clothes, the eyes wide and focused, all show her fright. And perhaps you cannot see it from the back of the room, but even from there you are aware; there are tiny dots of red in the pupils that give those eyes the glow of terror. The artist--and she is indeed an artist--is Edith..."

The name was drowned out by applause and congratulations as Madame Clairmont, most of the students, Edith's foster parents, and many others stood and gathered around Edith. Even Genevieve and her friends, to Edith's great surprise, came over and offered polite congratulations.

"It is as I have said, ma petite, talent and ability. Bien fait. Well done."



Wordcount: 1978