Crimson Whispers

Crimson Whispers is my descriptive term for a fictional story about bidding for digital artwork. The image is the work of my talented friend Victor Kates.

Inside The Pushkin State Gallery of Fine Arts, Moscow:

The gallery was a hush of silent whispers and hand signals as the bidding began on canvas, metal, and stone sculptures. The artistry came from all over the world. First, Second, and Third World countries were represented by original artwork designed to showcase the social expression of each nation.

One Piece commanded a different kind of expression. It wasn't a canvas or a sculpture, but a digital 3D image set inside an 8K, 92-inch monitor by Viktor Lebedev, a software developer-turned-artist.

To call it an image felt like an injustice. It was the digital spirit of a woman, woven from pure light and shadow. Her profile was a symphony of white wavy lines, delicate as a spider's silk and dynamic as a rising tide. The lines flowed, intersected, and danced, defining the elegant curve of a feminine jaw line. At a 30-degree angle, her crimson lips appeared to purse, as if she were experiencing the human emotion of doubt or disapproval.

It was the megapixels in the image that had no flaw, just the ethereal shimmer of light tracing her existence. She seemed to breathe, to pulse, to be held in a state of suspended animation, yet visually alive.

Viktor, her creator, saw the monochromatic artistry of her lips at every angle. They were full, slightly parted at times, hinting at a breath just taken or a word about to be spoken. More than red, they were the deep, intoxicating hue of a forgotten velvet curtain, a rare wine to be tasted and savored.

Her lips were the focal point, the heart of the image, drawing every eye and holding it captive with a silent burning passion.

Viktor stood nearby. His left side trembled from Parkinson’s as he observed hobbyists' reactions to the bidding on his artistry.

“She may be my last creation,” he thought, while trying mentally to stop the shaking as his social anxiety increased.

It took months to perfect the algorithm that generated those wavy lines, weeks agonizing over the precise shade of red. Viktor pushed a wine table in front of his design. With effort, he climbed on top of the makeshift platform. Curious eyes of investors focused on him as he spoke with power and authority.

“Attention, attention, everyone! I know she's not a person,” Viktor stated.

“But to me, she feels more real than everything,” he professed. “With a heavy heart, I withdraw my work of art from the gallery.”

“Crimson Whispers is no longer for sale!” he declared with a finality that left no room for negotiation.

Art collectors gasped in shock. Others fainted, collapsing to the floor.

With a tear in his eye, the 73 -years- young artist awkwardly stepped down from the table. No one helped the unsteady senior. Rather, bankers, investors, and supporters spoke of lawsuits and false advertising among themselves. Viktor paid them no mind as his digital treasure seemed to approve of the announcement. The murmuring ceased, and everyone walked away.

Art collectors whispered in awe about the magnum opus in digital form that they no longer had access to. It was a muse, a mystery, and a masterpiece. Without another word, Viktor covered the monitor with a white sheet from the wine table. He switched the power button off, then cut the cord, forever preventing those who looked at the Crimson Whispers from seeing her again.

The End