Piotr Popov’s art was a poignant enigma, eliciting strong emotions from viewers who couldn’t describe why it evoked in them the emotions it did. And few had the same response. Some would stare at the piece for hours, others would weep, some became maniacally happy. There were at least three reports of individuals going home and causing harm: One man committed suicide in his bathtub, a woman drove herself and her four children into a lake, another went into a mall with an Uzi. None provided suicide letters or manifestos or any explanation.
Popov’s art was equally variable. Its influences seemed to range from Picasso’s cubist period to Warhol’s commercial and derivative spin.
No surprise, then, that an exhibition of a work in progress from Popov drew much attention. Every day, the piece, entitled ‘King in Yellow,’ would be available for viewing after Popov had worked on it the night before. It began with a blank black velvet canvas, then the form of a singing Elvis slowly took shape over the course of weeks.
Jacob knew that the wing of the gallery where Popov worked was off limits, but he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak in. He expected to find the artist staring dreamily at the canvas, but instead found him working with a nude model. A fantastic Elvis impersonator, if there ever was one. While he had come to see Popov, Jacob found himself drawn to the impersonator, unable to look away from the uncanny likeness to the King. He began to wonder if somehow restoring the King himself might be Popov’s art.
He shook his head and moved to leave. Colliding with a small metal trash bin sounded echoes throughout the gallery. Peter looked up from his offending foot to see Popov and Elvis staring at him. Bumbling and blushing, he stuttered out apologies and turned to the door, only to collide with a fully-dressed Elvis blocking the exit. Peter began to apologize again, but found himself staring into the dark and empty eyes of the King, devoid of color, emotions, or humanity, the face a shade of tan clay.
Feeling his foot on something, Jacob looked down to see he had landed on the blue suede shoe of the thing blocking his path.
From behind him he heard Popov say, “Well, now you’ve done it.”
See the author’s published work here.
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