Vincent and the Instagram Influencer

(a creative illustrated short story written 3/30/22 to 4/27/22)

© Eileen Slifer, 2022

Dear Theo:

You are never going to believe this but last night I was visited by someone from the future. She came from New York City in the Americas and she was dressed in such a fashion as to appear so ghastly and oddly cloaked, I thought she might be a phantom of some sort, so to be sure, I downed me some good absinthe before talking with her.

She was wearing shoes with pointed heels that were a good six inches high – the base of which was not more than 3/8 of centimeter.

She was clad in some type of sheer stockings through which I could see her bare skin through all the way up to…well…suffice it to say, she had on a very unusual burgundy leather wrap tightly bound around her waist showing full thigh.

I must confess dear brother I did see part of her breasts and this was somewhat in appearance to the poor Parisian cabaret creature our friend Manet depicted at the bar at the Folies-Bergère . While it made me blush a shade of alizarin crimson I still haven’t told you the most unusual thing about her appearance. It was her earlobes!

Though she was faint of complexion – clearly of French or Dutch descent yet, according to her, residing in New York City in the fantastic year of 2022 – yet oddly there were huge holes pierced in her ear lobes. They were held open by some type of round black device and I tell you, dear brother, they must at least been a full centimetre-and-a-half in circumference. Nevertheless this apparition from the future sat down with me at the brothel in Arles.

Yes, dear brother, I did return to that same brothel where that incident happened. But instead of finding the same prostitute that so graciously took my ear cutting into her very possession, this strangely attired woman approached me and said, “Are you Mr. Vincent Van Gogh?”

Though, dear brother, I beheld her with quite an amount of suspicion, I did raise my eyebrow and say, “Yes, I am he himself” and, “Who might you be?”

She told me, “I am an Instagram Influencer sent to you from your future, and this, my fellow artist, is the opportunity of your lifetime! I will make you famous, guaranteed or your money back.”

I tried to tell her, “But Madame, I have no money. I have no money for your….um…services?”

After I listened to her initial sales pitch, the only conclusion I could reach in the moment, dear Theo, is that she was propositioning me to prostitute my sacred artwork.

For money, nonetheless.

…not for beauty, nor prestige, nor art for art’s sake…

Can you believe it, dear brother? This poor creature seemed devoid of the human sensitivities that you know, dear Theo, are the force behind my works.

Yet, I sat with her patiently, trying to understand this strange messenger from the future, as we are now politely trained to do, from our youngest days, dear Theo. You do know what I mean, without me having to say with any directness.

Oh and by the way, you are sending me some more cobalt blue paints, and that right soon, I hope?!

Oh yes. The woman.

The Instagram Influencer…where oh where was I, in all of these matters, dear Theo? You alone, of all people, will understand me, with your endless stream of colorful, commiserative compassion, and listen to this very odd experience I have been somehow selected to have!

Oh yes, please do tell me how you are, and that dear wife of yours. How are things at the salon these days? But oh, where was I?…

Because, if only for my sake and my reputation, my dearest brother Theo, you must believe me, rather, I implore you to believe me, when I tell you that despite her appearance and my discomfort I longed to protect this strange creature since obviously she appeared to be out of her element.

I offered to pay her to pose for some sketches that you might take to the salon, on my behalf but, especially, for your sake dear Theo…but, she remained insistent that she wanted to see my little bedroom in downtown Arles.

Hesitantly, I took her there and once we were inside she begged – no dear brother, she implored me to remove the bandage and show her my ear.

At once I was taken aback at such an odd awareness of my currently fragile condition but upon her insistence I did painfully remove the bandage. A strange and huge smile broke out upon this creature’s face as though she were beholding pure gold.

She then did something quite odd. She had some kind of device with her. I would say it measured about 7 x 15 centimetres and was flat. The device had some type of button and when she pushed it a bright, glowing light fluttered onto its surface in a way that was mesmerizing.

Oh dear Theo, I was enthralled, I mean so very captivated. Never lovelier was the fragmented flashing of images and particle colors as I saw on this strange object. But then, brother Theo, she did the most unusual thing. She circled around me and pointed this object at my ear. Yes, Theo, I do not lie. Please, please listen, and believe me! The object made strange staccato sounds and she seemed to be positioning it in every angle and she got quite, quite close to the bloody lobe…

As if dear Theo, the actions of this creature were not already highly irregular, she then pulled out a notebook of paper and started writing very very quickly a stream of nonsensical words like “Twitter…Instagram…Pinterest…Facebook…on and on she wrote, yes, furiously scribbling…concocting words as if there were no tomorrow!”

My dear Theo, I cannot say that even when I lived among the potato eaters did I ever behold a creature quite so pitiful…quite so ill…and taken by some feverish madness. She just kept furiously writing notes on and on, looking in every nook and corner of my humble blue bedroom with my yellow bed, periodically pointing this glowing device at parts of objects, smiling in some orgy of personal delight, and, while the device made its staccato sounds, she mumbled to herself over and over about my ear!

She spent hours, walking around my studio and pointing the flat object at brushes and even my tubes of paint that you so kindly sent me in plenteous supply most recently, dear Theo.

I so wanted to console this creature. She made no sense to me. 

And then, as if the madness itself was not apparent to her, she pointed the object right in front of my eye.  Yes I’m afraid it is true, dear Theo, she pointed it at my eye very very closely and it made clicking sounds and a blindingly bright flash entered my very soul, piercing me to my core.

Dearest brother Theo, I know you fear I’ve finally gone mad, but I tell you, this apparition from the future was so very real and strange to behold, and especially I fear revealing even to you, of all people, these my most contemplative speculations, my dear brother.

She was raving mad with her ideas and told me that she would have me “tweeting from the grave.” 

I’m not even sure what that means.

She said that “my ear would be pinned and repinned by millions – if not billions – on planet Earth in the year 2022 on the babbly word she kept using…‘Pinterest’…she said that all eyes would behold my wounded earlobe in real time on the Instagram.

She kept using these words, but I’m not even sure she knew what they meant…it just all sounded…so…very painful to me…

And as if this nonsensical rambling was not enough, she told me that she would “make me famous.”

She said she had been stalking me from the future on something she called the Google… and knew of you as well, dear Theo, and implored me that I should ask you to forget featuring my works at the Boussod & Valadon and should contract, yes she said that I should contract HER to be the influencer of my career!

I could only conceive of her as possibly affected and delusioned by something, but I know not what!

I told her, dear Theo, as kindly and as sensitively as possible, that you were a marvelous influencer upon my meager sustenance and career.

Though I have yet to sell a painting with your assistance, dear brother, I remain confident in your art dealing skills, remembering especially your time at the Hague.

Nevertheless I truly feared the creature’s reaction, should I decline her proposition. 

Not wanting to break this creature, in her fragile condition, I permitted her to then put the device in front of me and she began touching it very rapidly.

To my horror, I saw every painting I ever did appear on this flat object, and even ones I had yet to imagine, but surely, appeared at first blush to have done by my own hand!

And there was one in particular, dear Theo, that looked so very much like my style…it was a wheat field with black crows in flight over it and I was quite moved. It made me oddly sad…

But this creature, unable to convince me of her purpose for this visit from the future, said to me, “Vincent, you drive a hard bargain. Okay what is your price? What is it you want from me in order for me to become your Personal Influencer?”

Dear Theo, I was at a loss for words and as you know, that is quite an unusual predicament for me if I do say so myself.

Adjusting the bandage back upon my ear, I noticed some type of symbol for a coffee cup on her device-y thing.

Curious, I asked, “What is this?”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s just a low-level-source-of-revenue-and-patronage-app that starving artists resort to in the year 2022.  They keep creating and then timidly ask those who benefit from their work to ‘buy them a cup of coffee.‘ It’s a piece of nonsense…the Instagram Influencer is truly cutting edge, if I do say so myself.”

“HUH.” Vincent said.  And a peculiar smile came over his face.

“Coffee. I sure do like coffee…” Vincent said, with a sudden far off gaze…

With that, he walked over to a table, peered into a jug with a black watery substance that had gathered some odor and slight mold.

He shook it up, and reaching for his paint-mixing cup, he took his extra blood-soaked bandage from yesterday, which is the day before tomorrow, which apparently he was living in that day, and wiped out as much of the lead-laden-cobalt-blue paint residue as he could.  He poured the old coffee into the cup, pausing with momentary melancholy and distressed thoughts, as he remembered that just several nights ago his friend Gaugin and him had made this brew, while tempers were flaring… and that may have been the night before that night in the Arles brothel..but he couldn’t quite recall…

He then returned to the table and seated himself across from the Instagram influencer.

She stared at him so hard that he felt her strange gaze pierce his tender heart. Surely a cup of coffee might calm down her tortured soul.

Smiling and revealing his bad-toothy-grin, Vincent pushed the mug in front of her.

“You first, Madame!”

There was a pause and Vincent sensed he had made a connection with this odd creature.

She smiled and then reached into her purse and put on some type of mask over her mouth and nose, hooking it around her ears.

Lifting the mug toward her face she removed enough of the mask to take a sip and then placed the mug back in front of Vincent, and removed the mask.

At this, dear Theo, I just could not contain myself any longer.

I looked at her device.

I looked at all the scrawled notes on her paper. 

And I looked at her mask.

And I looked at my coffee mug she had pushed back at me after taking her sip.

Calmly, and you would have been so proud of me, dear Theo, I softly and gently asked her, “Are you okay???”

__________

This short story and illustration/framed art was inspired by a good friend who was brainstorming on the phone with me one night in mid-March and suggested maybe I needed an “Instagram Influencer.”

From the context and personal observations of Instagram usage, I knew loosely what she meant!

However, I did not know this was an actual title!

Nor that some people make it their occupation.

And to all the Influencers out there who do fantastic work that others find helpful, please pardon my caricaturish satire.

I am just personally opposed to the idea (and, I object to the cost of it, ha ha) that I would entrust someone else to create my image for me to sell my work!

If I can’t be my own best Influencer…well…I may as well go feed my paintbrushes to my chickens!

~Eileen slifer