Living Art

January 24, 2018
By Anonymous

Art has always been part of human civilization, but have you ever wondered why? You may be thinking to record things or maybe to express an emotion, and you are absolutely right. I mean I know I've talked to the art themselves.
What happens is the artist is working and they are expressing emotions, and ideas as they make brush strokes or hammer away stone and sometimes an artist gets so wrapped up in a piece they leave a part of themselves behind. That is where I come in, you see when a piece of an artist is trapped in the art it becomes alive. You can't have ships sailing out of paintings and marble statues walking down streets. So we take them here, to our museum and protect them. It is the World's Most Infamous Museum of Living Art.
Very few people know about it. Some people just wouldn't react well to things jumping off the pages of sketch books. Some would love but there are always the ones who destroy what they don't understand. My name is Violet Scott and my job is to protect it, at any cost.
I get out of  bed my short hair sticking straight up . I eat a breakfast of toast and yogurt, put on my stiff uniform and slick back my hair. I am running early so I sit looking out the windows. I remember back when I first was brought here, I was just a security guard at a small museum in Paris when I was recruited, that was a year ago. Now I am 20.
There was a huge bang outside my door followed by a series of curses that jolted me from my thoughts. I opened my door with a bang that rattled the hinges. Before me was quite a scene, Joules a ten foot statue was bent over picking up pieces of wall. Laurence a marble statue with only one arm was leaning against the wall awkwardly trying to conceal a gaping hole behind him. Not again I thought. This was the second time this month.
When they saw me they froze.
"We are so sorry mam-" Joules said in his booming voice
"We were just tossing around the ball and it got a little out of hand." Laurence tried to explain in his hollow voice. It just so happens that "The Ball" is a five hundred pound sphere of pure iron. I glanced down at my watch, crud now I am running late.
"All that I ask is that you please patch up the wall and possibly find something different to toss around." I sighed.
"Yes mam," They both said in unison.
"You know where the wall paste is." I said as I walked down the corridor passing other poorly covered up holes.
There was a racket out in the main section of my wing that reminded me of a crowded high school classroom. I stepped out into the huge forty foot tall room. Sunlight slanted in from the glass, curved dome. People, animals and a bunch of other creatures were leaning out of frames and standing around something. That's when I saw him, he was standing In the center of the room surrounded by art that was yelling questions. He looked completely terrified. A metal statue of medusa had his hands pinned behind his back. I should probably step in now I thought before it gets more heated.
"What is going on here?" I said my voice rising above all the chaos. Everything in the room turns toward the sound of my voice as I step out from the shadow of pillar I was concealed behind. Silence and uneasiness follows. The boy... or young man now that I can see him clearer looks relieved but also a little terrified of me. He is dressed in a red flannel, a jacket over that, jeans and hiking boots. An animated sketch of a cat holds a backpack which I can only assume is his. "Medusa" I said referring to the metal statue that held him in place. "Maybe you could shed some light on the situation?" The gorgon hesitated then spoke.
"We found him snooping around in the rock garden Ms. Scott." She said in a voice that sounded like the screech of metal on metal.
" I see, when was anyone planning on telling me about our visitor?" The whole room shuffled uncomfortably , no one willing to meet my eyes. "Fine, could you please escort him to my room please." With that I turned and left. A breach could be very, very bad. There was protocol for it but it had never happened before. I thought as I walked down the corridor with a sinking in the feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Once we got to my chambers I had the man tied to a chair and sent the art that led him there outside the doors. I sat down behind my large oaken desk and studied him as he shifted, obviously uncomfortable. Finally he spoke.
" What is this place and who are you?"
" This is the museum of living art and I am the protector of it."


The author's comments:

I was inspired by art to write this piece, I just love the pure emotions that artist are able to put into their pieces and I wanted to incorporate that into a story.


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