Bob Deakin Short Stories

The Office Gallery and Art Studio. That name, and I don’t want to type it again until I have to, makes an excellent phrase for a typing class exercise. It took me about eight takes to get it right with no errors. I type fast and careless and that’s not a very forgiving title for folks like me.

It seems a good setting for a studio/gallery, although a bit off the beaten trail of downtown Orlando, Florida. It’s only a couple blocks from Lake Eola, which makes it charming in the afternoon, and not-so-charming at night. The interior looks like a studio, with doors off the corridors providing entrances into diverse little worlds of artistic creation. The décor is sparse yet there always looks as though something is going on when you walk in.

There’s got to be a better name than The Office Gallery and Art Studio, however. How about the Off-Disney Playhouse? Let’s throw that one by Mr. Eisner. I’m sorry, that would be Robert Iger, new CEO since 2005.

The Office Gallery and Art Studio is surrounded by large buildings owned or formerly owned by large banks, legendary local developers and a courthouse, how about the 800-Pound Gorilla Gallery? It has a certain ring.

It is a studio, and it is a gallery, and it is on E. Robinson St., so how about the East Gallery Robinson? That could be abbreviated to E.G. Robinson and be mistaken for a landmark celebrating late film legend Edward G. Robinson for added publicity and mystery.

Let’s pigeon-hole all of the artists who work here and call it the Art Deco Shadow, in honor of the Courthouse design and it’s looming presence, even though it’s built to the north and will never be able to throw a shadow on this building unless there’s a real big fire on the other side.

Try this one out: The Citric Acid Think Tank. It’s Orlando, so the citric reference works. Citric Acid is an ingredient used in lots of foods that Floridians eat, and Acid, on its own, was a performance-enhancing substance used by artists way back when, and some claim even in modern times, adding a bit of romantic art history to the discussion. Also, the phrase Think Tank could be confused with Washington “think tanks,” adding to the merriment and the publicity.

How about the Orange City Workshop? No. That would be confused with Orange City, Florida, the Volusia County town that’s just far enough away from the Atlantic Coast to piss you off as you head for the beach.

Using the word Orange in the title is impossible, unfortunately. It’s too obvious and too out-of-date. Anyway, the days of smelling oranges near downtown Orlando ended around the time Epcot was being built. Hmm. How coincidental. How did that happen?

Sun City Studios sounds nice but one might expect to see Elvis and Johnny Cash. Additionally, Orlando is “The City Beautiful,” not “The Sun City,” which is El Paso, Texas’s nick name.

With major delays in Orlando’s Downtown redevelopment in the past few years, a subsequent flood of available space in the Orlando area, and the recent economic crisis, no one’s really sure what the future holds for The Office Gallery and Art Studio, so for now let’ just keep calling it The Office Gallery and Art Studio.

Never mind.

Copyright 2010

Frankie suffering for his art.

“Can’t you knock first?” shouted Frankie, the red-faced artist, angrily, raising his pallet so that only his eyes were visible.

He was standing in a small, poorly-lit room, with various objects carefully sprawled about the floor while staring at his painting of a pirate. Included were everything from an ashtray and industrial adhesives to nude photos, bottles and buckets. This was a scheduled visit by the students from Stetson University to see his latest work in progress, but Frankie was not quite ready to show it off.

Everett Thomas, the art teacher leading the students, apologized as the students filed in and quickly viewed the display before leaving. He then had a brief, tense chat with Frankie before heading out with the students. Frankie agreed to come and speak to the group a few minutes later and offer insight into his current work.

The students made their way to another room and sat to discuss the show. Energy was high and they were bouncing in their seats to make comments.

“It was an unconventional display of art of course, but aren’t they all,” Mr. Thomas began. “Did you notice how important it was for the artist, right there, during our tour, to re-position the bucket in such a carefully chosen location? A true artist is never satisfied with random placement of his subjects.”

“It was amazing,” Tiffany interjected, her hands on her knees in glee. “That was such a compelling statement. I don’t know where to start. I’ve never had a work of art hit me like that before.”

“I see a man of the sea in horrible pain,” offered Seth, frantically attempting to explain Frankie’s use of color, texture and ‘found treasures.’ “His ability to emote an emotion is incomparable.”

Other students followed in praising the artist’s work, complimenting everything from the pirate hat in the painting to the mop in the bucket on the floor.

Twenty minutes later, Frankie finally arrived to talk to the students and answer questions.

“What was the message you were trying to send with this phenomenal work?” Mr. Thomas said, kicking off the questioning.

“I must start by apologizing to you all about this project,” Frankie said, his face painted with extreme disappointment. “I’ve been up for three days drinking beer, sniffing glue, looking at porn and trying to fix this goddamn leak in the ceiling.”

Copyright 2009

The straw hat weirdo. Drawing by John Coutinho

Last month, Adam, one of the artists an off-Disney studio in Orlando, Florida, after a long night at the easel realized only too late, when he was home, that he had left his iPod in the kitchen of the studio.

“If somebody finds it they’ll hold it for me,” he assured himself as he lay his head on the pillow for the night, comforted by the camaraderie of his fellow artists.

He returned to the studio in the morning and was absolutely steaming when he found his iPod stomped to a million pieces on the kitchen floor.

“Who the hell did this?” he asked, in deep angst, in no particular direction.

“It was a skinny guy with a straw hat, torn overalls and worn-out floppy shoes,” said Seth, another artist, stepping into the kitchen to counsel Adam. “I’ve seen him before. Real weirdo.”

Last Tuesday, Juan, another artist at the studio, had just completed a sculpture of LAX Airport, cut from a single piece of teak wood. It was a commissioned work and took him nearly ten weeks to complete, and was the darling of the local art scene. The sculpture sat on display in the studio gallery for all to see, awaiting shipment to the West Coast.

That afternoon at the studio, Keisha, after bidding farewell to her tap dancing students, looked up into the security monitor at her desk and couldn’t believe her eyes. There was a skinny guy wearing a straw hat, torn overalls and worn-out floppy shoes, swinging an ax at Juan’s sculpture, which was on fire. Something told her this wasn’t right and she got up to investigate.

By the time she got to the gallery he had put down the ax and was hurrying out. The sculpture was chopped in hundreds of pieces, all of them burning. The heat and smoke set off the alarm and the police and fire departments were on their way.

“He was very skinny, with a straw hat, torn overalls and worn-out floppy shoes,” Keisha said to the officer, who introduced himself as Dan Short of the Orange County P.D.

“Did you notice anything strange about his behavior?” Officer Dan asked.

“He was very weird,” she said. “When I asked, he said he was here to fix the plumbing but he wasn’t dressed like a plumber, and it didn’t look like a plumber’s ax that he was wielding.”

“That is weird,” Officer Dan responded.

Nothing more came of it until this morning when Amy brought in a brand new espresso machine for her fellow artists and proudly set it up on the kitchen counter. By noon it had been inexplicably ripped from the wall, thrashed around the room and tossed out the two-story window and splattered on the sidewalk.

Tears flooded down her cheeks when she walked into the kitchen and discovered the vile act.

“What? Who! Why?” she screamed, and was soon comforted by friends, all staring at the carnage in disbelief.

“It was the skinny guy with the straw hat, torn overalls and worn-out floppy shoes,” Seth divulged, as everyone stared at their feet in search of an answer. “I don’t know where he comes from but he’s a real weirdo.”

Just then everyone looked up, shocked to see Seth adorned in a straw hat, torn overalls and worn-out floppy shoes.

“What a weirdo!” Amy screamed at him in horror.

Copyright 2010