Random Thoughts on art and horror

Andrew Fischer’s Random Thoughts

Artistic streaks

Afew months back, I wrote the piece Brushes With Celebrity (ColdType 205), in which I related a few of my encounters with famous people. Some days later, I thought “Why not reverse it to “Celebrities With Brushes” and poke fun at the paintings produced by conceited actors and other swelledheads who believe they have art talent? I rubbed my hands together in gleeful villainy, pondering the enjoyment in which I’d revel. I visualised vapid landscapes, pitiful two-dimensional portraits and puerile abstract impressions of their pompous lives. I could hardly wait to get started; it was simply a matter of a quick internet search for “celebrity art” …

But a funny thing happened on the way to columnist nirvana. Practically all the celebrity art that appeared was so good that I couldn’t find fault with any of it. How could I – a man without a shred of art ability – make fun of the celebrities, or anyone else, who actually did have such talent? I felt miserable and defeated, and barely stopped short of chastising myself for behaving so meanspiritedly.

So, the joke is on me (sorry, BeeGees). By way of atonement for my antisocial thoughts, I suggested to the editor he should publish one of my attempts at art and encourage readers to make fun of it. He declined the offer, suggesting I find a helpful therapist.

The horror . . .

One fine day in the mid-1970s my writing partner and I visited the office of our agent at the William Morris Agency in Los Angeles. We were extremely fortunate to have him, and the only reason we did was that my partner’s ex-girlfriend had once worked as his secretary. Getting an agent back then (and doubtless today, as well) was like having first-and-goal on your opponent’s one-yard-line in American and Canadian football. (However, in our case, we fumbled the ball.)

We’d been scheduled for a quick meeting of one type or another with “Al”. After four months the agent had set up just a single interview – with the female vicepresident of a famous record company’s fledgling movie division. (You remember records, right? Those thin, black vinyl disks you spun on a record-player which produced music?) That meeting had quickly gone awry when it became apparent that the VP in question had a brain the size of a cockatoo’s.

Anyway, as we neared Al’s office he stepped outside it, finishing a conversation with – “Hey, that looks like Mickey Dolenz!”

Indeed it was Dolenz, actor/ musician best remembered as one of the four Monkees in the eponymous mid-1960s TV show.

As we walked up to the two men, I noticed the actor was taller than I imagined. He wore a tightfitting, light gray sharkskin suit. Al introduced us as “hot young writers” and my partner and I beamed like the sun.

Dolenz was pleasant enough and soon stated he wanted to produce movies at this point in his career.

“What kind?” I asked.

“Whore stories”, he replied.

“Whore stories?” I echoed.

“Whore stories”, he repeated.

The non-Mickey members of the group looked at each other, puzzled.

“Whore stories! Whore stories!” he exclaimed.

It dawned on me first.

“Oh – horror stories.” He’d been saying “horror” all the time, pronouncing it with slurred speech: “hoor-ore”. Dolenz spun around and left after another minute. The three of us rolled our eyes. CT

Andrew Fischer is an accountant and author of two books. Purgastories, a collection of short stories, is available at amazon. com. He enjoys his fiancée and designing board games; the latter can be downloaded at no charge from boardgamegeek.com.