THE PORTRAIT

THE PORTRAIT

“ Oh, how wonderful! It’s really a masterpiece! Really brilliant! I could say I came here for this sculpture ( work)” Maggie said. She seemed truly enthusiastic about Joe K.’s self-portrait, which was exposed inside a glass case and frozen. In fact, the marvelous work of the genius could only exist as long as it remained frozen. “Ah, and then how wonderful is this museum, which allows dogs and cats to enter, and even without a muzzle! On, it’s magnificent! I find this permission a demonstration of great sensibility, above all towards our four-legged friends….Don’t you see how even my DICK  gets amazed in front of this very masterpiece? Ah, truly a work of genius! Yeah, Joe K. is a genius for real!” It really seemed Maggie felt like she was in seventh heaven in that large room of The New Streamers, the contemporary art museum, pride of the town of…Nicazzuful, while all the other visitors had sad, downcast faces.

Meanwhile, her big dog Dick kept moving closer and closer to the glass case that contained the marvelous work of that international genius of Joe K., which was just his self- portrait.

Dick was a big, massive dog, with black short hair, it was A CROSS between a Transylvanian Hound and a Neapolitan Mastiff. Suddenly, Dick, staying close to the glass case with the masterpiece inside, started barking ___but his was more a growling than a barking ___as he beat the tail on it and put his nose on it ( on the glass case). Yes, it was clear that the big BLACK beast ( dog) liked very much the self-portrait under glass….Indeed it seemed that Dick liked the masterpiece so much that he was going ( intending) ….to eat it. The big black beast ( dog), barking furiously, more and more agitated, began to grab the glass case with his paws, as he pressed his nose on it. The visitors present in the room made worried faces , and they began to grumble.

 “ For sure it doesn’t seem appropriate to let dogs of this  size come in without muzzles” One visitor said, in a loud, peremptory voice. “ Right! And , besides the muzzle, also a leash would be needed for dogs” Another visitor said. “ Sure, you should keep a big beast like this ( dog) on a leash” A woman protested, angrily, looking dark at Maggie.  “ But Dick isn’t dangerous at all! I can assure you! My dog never attacked anyone” Maggie hastened to say ( to explain), as she was visibly becoming well off.

Meanwhile, the glass case containing the self-portrait of the great artist Joe K. began to fog up.

“ Ah! Ah! Listen! Your dog never attacked anyone, you say.  But now he’s attacking Joe K.’s portrait! He is going to eat, or drink, it! Ah! Ah! Ah!” A man shouted, laughing coarsely.

“ Sure! And the dog can eat this sculpture since it is edible!” Another visitor agreed ( remarked), with a face that you couldn’t understand whether he was more amused or more frightened.

From the glass case, that was becoming more and more foggy , blood began to flood . The sculpture inside, which was Joe K.’s portrait, was in fact made of blood. So it could stand, it could exist as long as the blood was frozen.

The big black dog, barking furiously, agitated so much that he seemed to be a tarantula, began to drink greedily the blood dripping from the case, and also to lick the blood dropped on the ground.  “ But look what disaster! A real mess! Soon! We need a manager to intervene!” The visitors started screaming. “ Never seen a scene like this! A dog drinking a work of art! “

“ Even A SCULPTURE MADE OF BLOOD had never been seen!” People present in the room shouted. “ And MADE of ARTIST’s BLOOD!”  shouted a voice that rose higher than all the others. In fact, Joe K. claimed that the blood with which he made his self-portraits, was HIS BLOOD.  

“ Ah, those of you who are young may not remember, but back in the 1970s, there was an artist who exhibited jars, containing….ARTIST’S SHIT” An older lady said.

“ But no, those jars only bore the words: ARTIST’S SHIT. They did not contain shit at all! It was just a provocative gesture on the part of the artist!” A young woman, elegantly dressed, took care to explain, all accomplished ( with a composed air/ expression)  

“ Yes, it was to mean ( to say) that it’s enough for one to be considered an artist that he can sell his own shit too “ A middle-aged man, looking like perfect gentlemen, added ( remarked).

“ But of course” the young elegant woman said.

“ Do you remember that a few years ago this very museum exhibited the machine to make shit? Yes, artificially, mechanically produced shit, that looks like REAL SHIT! Eh, art is going in this direction…” A disheveled young man said. He was dressed with blue jeans and a white shirt, abundantly stained with yellow, red, pink, blue , green, purple ,and many other colors. He had to be a painter. That guy started to complain about the contemporary art , that he found specious and insignificant. Most of the people in the room seemed to agree with him. But not Maggie, who, while her big dog continued to lick the floor where the blood had fallen, since the sculpture made of the artist’s blood had dissolved, began to shout: “ So, why did you come here at The New Streamers, which is one of the most important museums of contemporary art in our country?”

The director of the museum arrived, surrounded by his staff. He at first invited Maggie to calm down , and keep her dog at bay, since , as his collaborators had told him, it was, her dog that had destroyed the glass case , greedy by the blood sculpture it contained, so also causing the destruction of that marvelous work of art which the museum ( The New Streamers) had been so much proud to host, which only a few museums in the world had the honor of being able to exhibit. Then yes that Maggie got even more agitated. She began to rail against those ( people) who discriminated animals, and in particular dogs, which were ( are) the true friends of men and women. ____It must be said that Maggie hated cats ____And she went on saying, indeed shouting, that if Joe K.’s marvelous self-portrait sculpture had been destroyed, it was entirely the responsibility of the museum that had not kept the temperature inside the glass case below zero. While Maggie started to inveigh against the directors of contemporary art museums, who were not up to their duties ( task), her big black dog( Dick) pounced on the director, bit him, threw him on the ground and he continued to bite him even when the man was lying on the ground. The director’s face was reduced to a sanguinolent mush. When the police arrived Dick had also bitten some of the museum staff and some visitors.

The director of the museum ( THE NEW STREAMERS), the renowned professor , and distinguished

Architect Bill Bartolozzi, was in danger of his life for many days .His face had been completely destroyed by Dick’s bites…oh, as we can see, the big black beast was very hungry for human blood and flesh, at least that morning. ( OR: had to have a great desire of….) In fact the big dog also tore a calf off from a young collaborator of the director, two fingers of her hand from an old lady visiting the museum, and the nose from a museum custodian.

Maggie had to pay a large sum of money for the damn her dog had done to the museum, and to the creator of the marvelous artwork which had been destroyed. But, above all, she had to fight like a wild beast to prevent her Dick from…being sentenced to death, that is, from being suppressed. Hers was a tough fight ( battle)  but finally she succeeded in saving  her beloved dog and in keeping him still with her. In fact, as an alternative to his suppression, all the people of Cazzuful had clamored for Dick to be locked up for life….in a special prison for four-legged animals, of course. Maggie knew that the director of the new, advanced guard’s museum was in Brazil to undergo a series of surgeries to reconstruct his face.

Christmas was approaching. There were just a little more than two weeks to Christmas when her dog disappeared. That afternoon, when she had seen him last time before his disappearance, Dick was running in the garden. Maggie knew that her dog wouldn’t go out alone into the street. He always did it ( went out) only with her who, after the disaster happened in the museum, always kept him on the leash when they went out. That afternoon she was at home and hadn’t heard Dick barking while he was in the garden, around the house. She hadn’t worried at all. She thought it unlikely that someone had entered the garden by climbing over the fence___the gate was closed___ had taken the dog and carried him away. Besides, she couldn’t even think that her Dick had gone away on his own, voluntarily. From the next day of his disappearance, Maggie carpeted her neighborhood and other zones of Cazzuful of posters with great photos of her dog, asking for help to find him.( OR with the appeal….)

It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing. The roofs of the houses, the trees,and the gardens were covered with a white mantle. The snowflakes kept  coming down slowly and as light as butterfly wings. Just a Christmas atmosphere. She, Maggie kept wondering where her beloved dog was. When the ring door rang she hoped it was someone bringing Dick back to her. Oh, it really would be Christmas if Dick had come back.

A hooded delivery man handed her a package, a great box wrapped in red Christmas paper. Ah, it had to be a gift, who knows from whom…The package was quite large, but not heavy. She was too taken ( too busy) thinking,and worrying about her dog to be curious to see soon what the box contained. She put the package under the Christmas tree, she would open it later, perhaps at midnight. 

 After not long she began to smell a bad smell ( odor) in the living room. It seemed that the bad smell was really coming from the gift package.  Maggie opened it and…oh God, but that sculpture looked like Dick’s head….it had a twisted snout and a bloody mouth. A note accompanied the sculpture that said: THE PORTRAIT OF YOUR DOG. I made it with shit and blood.

The note was not signed.