One of the best changes from living in a rural town to living in one of the most populated cities in the country was random street walking. Max found himself walking through New York looking for something to do. The city was always buzzing with activity and even the most grumpy of men could find something they enjoyed doing in a ten block radius of wherever they started. Tonight Max had decided to wander.

He wore his black hoodie and jeans, armor against the cool evening air. It didn't take him long to find something to tickle his fancy. An art gallery was open, inviting people in to look at a series of painters works and enjoy some wine. After his fake ID bust Max had decided against drinking for a while but a chance to see some art would be quite nice.

He stepped inside and began exploring, looking through the spaces that had been divided for each artist. The place was mostly empty, people probably looking for more excitement on a weekend evening. He looked through a series of war painting that was hung up. Gruesome and in your face, the artist was making a statement. Another had painted cars, obviously enjoying the angled ascetic. Max peered about and found a section, looking at the name.

"SHELBY"

He entered the viewing space and started to look around.

In that particular wing of the gallery, Shelby had quite a few pieces hung up around the walls. Some were a little more on the normal side, some demure portraits and colorful flora, but she'd snuck in quite a few of her favorites as well. It was always interesting seeing the varying reactions to her more morbid art. Skeletons and blood. Dark themes and ghastly settings. A mix of Dali and Okeefe.

The artist herself was across the room, decked out in a slim long-sleeved dress and heels, with her fading blue hair swept up into a messy bun. She was busy staring pointedly at a portrait of a clown as she nursed half a glass of wine. It may have been snobbish, but she very much hating the fact that she was sharing space with someone who devoted his like to various representations of 'Sad Clown' style paintings.

With a sigh and a sip from her glass, she turned on a heel and headed back to her own side. If there was one thing potential buyers seemed to like to do it was pick her brain for what they figured was the idea behind her work, and they could only do so if she was actually present near her art.

What's the inspiration behind this?

She'd been sitting in a freakin' garden outside and decided to paint a flower. Bam. Case closed.

It was often harder to explain where she got the ideas for her more gruesome paintings. Most people didn't seem to like 'I like dissecting people with my eyes and painting what I think I'd see.' as an answer.

Snorting to herself, she fixed the small nametag pinned to the front of her dress and crossed one arm over the other.

Only one more hour and she could go home, take off her stupid heels, and pass out in a pile of blankets.

Max looked at the painting impressed. He took in the mix of colorful landscapes and flora contrasted with the darker, harsher paintings. There was a sense of duality in the painters area, a mixture of life and death. Max took a step towards one of the paintings, a human skull with gashes of red spewing from it and analyzed the work.

The brush strokes on the skull were even, gentle and precise. The outer ring of colors was harsher, more passionate. He was not educated in painting but found himself seeing a passion in the work. Enthusiasm being restrained within the canvas. It was exceptional.

He heard the clicking of heels on the wooden floor and turned to look for the source of the sound. A woman entered in a black dress, her hair a faded blue. She seemed slightly irritated and Max glanced down at her crossed arms. He saw the name tag. This woman was responsible for the paintings before him. He could understand the frustration, most artists were not too fond of the high society farce held during these events.

Max walked over, a harsh contrast of street clothes and approached the woman

"You are very talent, though I'm sure you know that already since your work is on display. I really like that piece over there." He said gesturing to the painting he had examined earlier.

Someone sought to join her, and for a moment she almost stepped away. Then it became obvious that this particular person was heading in her direction. With an effort, she managed to look at him.

"You are very talent, though I'm sure you know that already since your work is on display. I really like that piece over there."

He was a younger fellow, unlike most of the stuffy 40-somethings she'd been forced to interact with so far. Unfortunately, the piece he gestured to really wasn't anything special.

"Thanks." She quipped, gesturing at the painting with her glass. "Someone purchased one of my other paintings this morning, so I had to throw that together before the show. I hate blank wall space. It's tacky."

She glanced at a few of the other pieces, which seemed much more focused and cohesive in comparison. Some with full figures and complicated plans. "You have no idea how many compliments that picture has gotten today, and I threw it together in a half hour."

It figured, really. She felt that sometimes it was the desperation seeping out of the work that really drew people in. She just needed something flashy enough and similar to fit in.

"Though I would argue that comment about talent. You can literally staple a hotdog to a canvas and someone will call it fine art."

Most people upon receiving a compliment for a piece of work they had done would politely say thank you and go about their day. Shelby was obviously not most people. Instead she reflected on the fact that the painting had been thrown together out of a quick need to fill wall space and the unexpected attention she recieved from such a quickly thrown together painting.

"That's fair. I doubt anyone looking at it would assume it was done on such a quick timeline." He replied.

She countered his statement concerning talent and retorted with a joke about people's perspectives on art. Max laughed earnestly. Her attitude was refreshing. It reminded Max of how he talked to people about dance. Most people treated art like some sort of mystical attribute people had, really it was something anyone could do with enough time and patience.

"Are you telling me I wasted all that money going to the ballpark frank exhibit?" He replied with a chuckle, "also I'd add that most people are idiots. How long have you been painting?"

"Are you telling me I wasted all that money going to the ballpark frank exhibit?"

Now that earned an honest laugh. "Don't let little old me rain on your mystery meat parade!"

"also I'd add that most people are idiots. How long have you been painting?"

"If that isn't the understatement of the year." She replied back, sharing a chuckle of her own. "I've been in the art world for probably a good fifteen years now." Since she was practically in diapers, actually, but she tended not to count the finger painting phase. 

After a moment, she extended a hand to formally introduce herself. "As the nametag states, I'm Shelby. It's a pleasure."

Gesturing around slightly with her glass, she pointed out a few of the other groups mulling about. "I take it you are either not familiar with the culture, or you don't give a crap, based on your outfit. Either way, welcome to my wing of the zoo."

She laughed at his joke, which seemed like a rather good start. She told him about her experience with art and Max gave an impressed nod. Fifteen years was a lot of time to commit to a skill. The effort showed in her work.

She extended her hand and offered her name.

"I'm Max. Pleasures all mine trust me." He said shaking her hand.

She pointed out some of the other groups.

-"I take it you are either not familiar with the culture, or you don't give a crap, based on your outfit. Either way, welcome to my wing of the zoo."

"Thanks. Really a bit of birth I'd say." He said with a laugh, "I'm just a fan of self expression. Growing up my parents were the kind of people who dropped three grand on a painting to hang in the hallway and never look at again because as we established blank walls are tacky."

He gave a glance at some of the pieces hanging about.

"My thing is music. I dance. The art only lasts for the length of a song, it's about the feeling of the moment. That's what I like about art. I like a painting that makes me feel something. When you painted these they didn't come out of nowhere, even if it was just cause you thought something looked pretty it came from inside ya know?" He gave an embarrased laugh.

"Sorry. I'm sure you get talked to by "wannabe art philosophers" all the time." He admitted.

She chuckled. "It's true... a lot of people want there to be some kinda special meaning or purpose to most things art related. Music and dance included."

She turned to stare at her own work with a critical eye. "It's different for each person. Some write things to get a message across. Political rhetoric, humanitarian messages... Some just slap things together for money because they know they will sell." She paused to sip her wine and shifted her attention back to Max.

"Others, like myself, simply do what we like... what brings us happiness and if other people like it that's great. If other people like it enough to purchase it? Awesome."

She didn't let any of her bitterness show over that. For all anyone outside her bubble knew she'd gotten popular because of her art, and surely not because a psychopath had ramped up her importance with some kind of bizarre obsession with her.

"I think with any good art form the message needs to last longer than the lifespan of the piece. Sure, something can be catchy and stick around for a bit, but usually, it fades. The really good stuff comes from people putting their passion in it, and the echoes of that spread for decades."

She glanced over at the clown wall again, features falling when she noticed that Mr. Clown artist himself had managed to snag some poor shmuck and was talking his ears off with a grip on the guy's elbow.

"...Ugh... I am not intoxicated enough for this." She reached to snag another glass of wine as a platter passed.

Max listened to Shelby attentively, nodding at the appropriate times. Despite her causal attitude Max felt like she was passionate.

If other people like it enough to purchase it? Awesome."

Max grinned at the statement. He knew the feeling, he'd been hired to perform before and those moments had been great. Other times he felt like he wasn't being taken seriously as a performer because he danced.

"Understandable. I work at a club, I end up being asked to dance a lot by customers. They seem less interested when they realize my shirt is staying on." He said with a sad laugh.

She pondered the nature of true art, of its lasting power and Max found himself agreeing with her.

"I totally agree. Each painting a person makes is a statement by them no matter how simple it might be. It's true anyone can throw paint on a canvas, but those who really have something to say. It sticks out, and that lasts." He replied.

She seemed perturbed by something and Max followed her gaze as she remarked. In a sea of clown paintings he saw a man talking excitedly with a fellow who seemed less than. Max stifled a laugh as Shelby grabbed another drink.

"That man's statement is that clowns are sad. Not quite groundbreaking is it?" He said with a chuckle, "are you made to come to these shows often. Pardon the observation but it seems like they aren't really your cup of tea."

"Understandable. I work at a club, I end up being asked to dance a lot by customers. They seem less interested when they realize my shirt is staying on."

Shelby chuckled, "Can't say I'm surprised. There's a reason I don't go out places like that anymore." Of course, her first experience within a club was a sour memory, so there was that also...  She lifted her glass to her lips again and glanced off to the side slightly.

"I totally agree. Each painting a person makes is a statement by them no matter how simple it might be. It's true anyone can throw paint on a canvas, but those who really have something to say. It sticks out, and that lasts."

She hummed an agreeing response while she was attempting to drain half of her glass. "Yeah... and unfortunately, sometimes it sticks and the message sucks. You win some, you lose some."

"That man's statement is that clowns are sad. Not quite groundbreaking is it? Are you made to come to these shows often. Pardon the observation but it seems like they aren't really your cup of tea."

The artist chuckled dryly. "That easy to tell? Guess I should try harder." She sighed through her nose and glanced around. "Half of this business is talent. The other half is marketing yourself. Some people don't care if the artist has a face, but a lot of people do. They want to know who you are, what you stand for, what your blood type is... etcetera, etcetera." 

She tried to keep some of her attitude from her expression but didn't quite have the energy to fully hold it back. "That means that I at least have to show up to a few of these pompous shows every now and then, and actually try and hold a polite conversation with a mostly very boring group of people."

Her response to his inquiry was exactly as he had expected. These shows were an exercise in necessity. Max knew the look, he had shared it many times at hospital and firm events his parents had dragged him to. Social obligation was a bit of a drag like that. As she continued he saw the frustration and contempt break through the pleasant facade she was forced to maintain for the event.

...hold a polite conversation with a mostly very boring group of people"

Silently hoping he wasn't included in that assessment Max gave a shrug of understanding as the woman continued to attempt to drown the issue with wine.

"Sad truth of the world I suppose. The worst is that they care little for your face so much as what that face can say to others about them." He began before throwing on a snooty and arrogant tone, "Oh yes this piece was made by a one armed painter who has been in rehab three times. See how progressive I am by purchasing his art."

He let out a bitter little laugh as an idea popped into his head. Devon had a birthday coming up and his mentor was known for having a taste for the finer things. Add that to the contacts he had an ax found himself realizing he might be able to assist Shelby with the "marketing of oneself"

"Well let me at least pull some of my own weight for taking up your time. If you were going to buy one of your own paintings which would it be? I have a friend whose got a birthday coming up. I'm sure he'd love good art." He asked.

"Oh yes this piece was made by a one armed painter who has been in rehab three times. See how progressive I am by purchasing his art."

Shelby snorted out a laugh and quickly tried to cover it up with a cough.

"Well let me at least pull some of my own weight for taking up your time. If you were going to buy one of your own paintings which would it be? I have a friend whose got a birthday coming up. I'm sure he'd love good art."

She turned her full attention to him then, lifting one blonde eyebrow slightly before turning to stare at her section of work. "Hm... well, I suppose if I were to be buying it for myself, I would probably go with," She paused a moment to scrutinize her own work.

"That one." She finally stated, before taking a few steps toward the painting she had chosen. It was a larger piece when it came to the size of the canvas and was filled from edge to edge with a melding of vibrant colors. It looked somewhat like a watercolor visually, except for a few places where there were thicker areas of paint that lifted off the canvas. If you looked closely enough, you'd be able to see that each little glob had a human shape and that there were hundreds of them scattered across the canvas.

"I like color, and anatomy." She stated simply. "But if you want I can invent a B.S. story for it for your friend." She ended the jest with a little grin, fiddling with her nearly empty glass.

She laughed and Max grinned as well. Seeing the pent up frustration dissolve on her face brought her face into a truly beautiful light. That was when people looked best, when they were happy.

She directed him towards a peice and he took a few steps closer to it to examine it. Vibrant colors and shapes melding into a complete esthetic that was quite pleasing. He have it an appreciative once over.

"But if you want I can invent a B.S. story for it for your friend.

He saw the sly grin on her face and chuckled. It was the mention of anatomy that made him notice. The shapes were all people. Max knew exactly what Devon would see when he saw this painting. Hundred of individuals, unique in their own way, vibrant and special in a way that separated each. And each combined to create an image of beauty. For him it would be Haven on canvas and though Max didn't know if she knew Devon or not Max had the sneaking suspicion that she would have a huge influx of business.

"Perfect. How much?" He asked her smiling, "And can I send someone to pick it up tomorrow?"

She smiled. A true smile this time. "Tell you what, since you actually made this event somewhat bearable, I'll give it to you for free." She reached out to pull the small price tag from the wall next to the painting. Normally she sold things like that for a few hundred bucks, but when she really liked someone she didn't mind giving her work away as gifts.

"If you are comfortable giving me the details of where you'd like it sent, I can ship it there with some gift wrapping."

Another person with a tray wandered past and she deposited her empty glass on the tray with others. "I'm sure you probably understand since you mentioned that you are into dance and music... but I like the thought that my creations go to homes with people who enjoy them. I hope your friend enjoys it as much as I do."

I'll give it to you for free."

Max gave a surprised start as she tore the price tag off the wall. His heart swelled a little at the gesture. Sure he would have paid, it would have cost him about two weeks of tips but the painting would have been worth it. As a gift it was infinitely more special.

"Thanks you so much" He said.

I can ship it there with some gift wrapping."

He gave her the address to Haven, "Just drop it off with the front desk lady, or have her call for me and I'll come down and get it." He said with a smile.


She made a statement about sharing art, and gave her regards that she hoped Devon liked it. Max could already see his boss beaming at the painting.

"He will love it." He said.

He gave a look around the gala and saw the people mulling about looking at pieces. The crowd was small now, but still present.

"How much longer you have to stick around here?" He asked, "I'd offer you a drink but since it flows freely here maybe coffee?"