Perspective Forty-Four
I done screwed up. No one who knows me would refer to me as a saint, but this time, I went too far. I represent an artist with a special level of amazing. I’ve always been rather smarmy, and the only thing I love more than art is money. I get that from my parents, if you can believe it. My mother said, on more than one occasion, “the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen is that dollar dollar bill.” I took her ludicrous words to heart and went into the business of selling art since I wasn’t talented enough to produce my own beauty anyway. I spent years searching for that one creator who could make my career and set me up for life. I finally found him, and I fear that I’m the one responsible for corrupting his soul. This guy is the real deal. He’s not just some schmuck I picked off the street to mold and manipulate into doing what I want. I’m bad, but I’m not that bad. No, his work is life-changing, and I mean that literally. I set him up at a gallery and put the word out, and things were going well. But then he started taking drugs so that he could make better and more enthralling stuff. I didn’t actually tell him to do this, but looking back, some of the things I told him could be perceived as damaging. I would regularly address the fact that most of the great artists had messed up lives. Van Gogh cut off his ear and killed himself. Jackson Pollock was an alcoholic recluse. Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera were in an open but abusive relationship with each other. But these are just examples. Not all artists have such problems. It’s true that experts have found correlations between mental illness and creativity, but that’s not a causal connection, and those findings are not agreed upon by all. My little artist was basically taking performance enhancing drugs, and I should have been there to help him. Sure, we continued to make money, but the cost was just too great. I was not only his agent, but his friend, and he was my responsibility. He’s better now, and he wants me to continue representing him because he doesn’t blame me, but I think it might be best if we part ways. I’m no good for him. This chapter in both of our lives needs to be over.
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