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nightmaretist · 1 year

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TIMING: Current PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Muertarte SUMMARY: Inge and Metzli toast on their collaboration moments before the opening of Inge's exhibition at MuertArte. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Meeting Inge had been long overdue. Ever since they perused through the online portfolio she had, Metzli knew they needed her work in their gallery. Pixels hid so much, but they did not hide her obvious talent. Even in their absence, with Rachel taking over, Metzli took great pride at the fact that they were able to convince the artist to visit. Maybe they didn’t give her the final push to convince her and add her to the rotation, but having a hand at all was enough for them to have some sort of pride. All credit to Rachel, of course, though.

“Hello, Inge.” They rounded the corner, inhaling the hints of paint still clinging to her scent. She was tiny in comparison, but they had no doubt she would be mighty and exude more confidence than a twelve foot man. It was a silly concept in theory, but they’d read it on some forum, and figured using exaggerations might make them a bit more appealing. Even if it was just in their head. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner. I had to be away.” Metzli bowed their head respectfully, raising it back up to lock their eyes onto her shoulder. They were getting better, they thought. Usually, their instinct was to go for the ceiling.

“We have coordinated your exhibition and all works you have given are now on display. Will you like to take very first look?” Gesturing to a table, Metzli pointed to some flutes and bottles of champagne. “You can also celebrate if you will like. This is your big day.”

Though all instinct demanded she leave, she remained. Inge considered this to be the cause of it all: this exhibition she had been working for and towards for a few months, showing Metzli’s employees what works she had in storage, what works she was expecting to finish before opening date. Rachel and her had poured over her catalog, which went back further than she would ever be able to logically explain. Metzli had been an absent ghost. Inge figured that they were a troubled person, or perhaps more busy than a local-gallery-owner typically was.

At last, though, they were there. Inge was considering her little darlings, the endless birds she had crafted and glazed, having formed a flock of statues. Gleaming eyes, dead eyes, sharp talons and ones that were missing. One of her fingers was underneath a beak, as if she was petting the little thing, “Hello Metzli.” She shrugged away their apology. “We all have obligations. Rachel was more than accommodating.”

She had seen the plans of course, the drawn up maps she’d given approval on — but she’d not yet ventured deeper into the exhibition, past her birds. “I’ll take a flute for on the go, and then we can take a look.” Inge didn’t ask before taking a bottle and popping it over, skillfully succeeding in not spilling anything before pouring two glasses. “I don’t … mean to be presumptuous.” She held out one of the glasses. Maybe Metzli didn’t drink. “But we should at least clink to this collaboration!”

“That is good to hear.” They nodded along, looking toward Rachel’s office. “She did very good while I was gone. Give her promotion. Deserved.” Metzli took the flute graciously, nodding again as Inge offered her her glass. She was right. An artist’s debut exhibition in a gallery was worth celebrating. Metzli, by no means, drank often, but thanks to their undead status, it hardly mattered. It took copious amounts of alcohol to affect them.

“Congratulations, Inge.” Metzli tapped their glass against Inge’s, sipping and wincing at the sensation of the pointy liquid hitting their tongue. It wasn’t too awful, they supposed, but they much preferred their usual; blood. Shrugging mentally, Metzli gestured to the hall, trying their best to scrape the spiky sensation off their tongue as they moved.

“I know you see designs for the custom frames, but I think they come out better than expected.” They stopped, “Ornate features are preferred with your style, but sometimes this is too distracting, so using stained poplar wood, briar smoke, and walnut became my choices. Dark. So intricate work will blend easily and leave focus where it should be.” Metzli smiled subtly, almost spiraling into a deeper dive about what they did, but they stopped themself and sipped the spiky liquid instead. “I hope these are good standard for you.”

Part of her was immensely curious to know why Metzli had disappeared, but she wasn’t one to pry. At least, not with people like the other, who she wanted to have a mutually beneficial business relationship with. “She seems like a good one. Best to keep her on.” Inge took a sip from her glass, giving a sound of approval at the taste. Some art galleries tended to serve horrible champagne, but it seemed Metzli’s wasn’t among them.

Her lips spread and she nodded her head, ready to thank the other but changing her mind at the last second. “Appreciated,” she said, glancing around the gallery. She wondered about the clientele that came here, if it was mostly locals or some others. Inge tried not to undermine the place, but it was hard not to — it wasn’t like some of the places in larger cities she’d had her work exhibited. Still, this town proved to be more exciting than one might expect at first glance, so perhaps the same could be said for MuertArte.

And Metzli seemed more than good at their work. Her paintings, which were often her least favorite part of her oeuvre, looked stunning in the frames the other had designed. “They’re marvelous, Metzli. They did come out better than expected. So yes, a good standard. I think we can both agree that this entire collaboration is proving fruitful, no?”

“Yes, that is the plan.” They replied dryly, arching a brow at the sound Inge made. It was one of surprised pleasure as she sipped on her expensive champagne. Metzli supposed they should give her details about what she was drinking if she liked it so much, especially if she wanted to purchase it herself. “Goût de Diamants.” They pointed at the glass with a jut of their chin, their only hand otherwise occupied with a glass of their own. “This is bottle only for you. I have one extra if you want to take it home. The rest are Dom Pérignon. It is good to see enjoyment on your face.”

Metzli closed their eyes proudly, bowing their head for what seemed like the hundredth time. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. As far as artist’s go, Inge had been a change of pace to work with. Confidence and pride in her work, requesting well within reason. Which was odd, at least to Metzli. Most artists wanted the most elaborate exhibits with parameters that the gallery could execute in theory, but didn’t make sense for such a beginner. And by no means did Inge seem to be so green. Her confidence appeared to be far more earned than most, though that was just from a short glance by Metzli and what they’d heard from Rachel.

“Fruitful?” There was no fruit, but context gave the vampire enough understanding to nod enthusiastically. Frutífera. That had to be it. “Yes, fruitful. With limited time exhibit and well-known critics coming, people will demand for more. Have very much doubts that you will have much to take back. Me and Rachel think you will sell very well here.” Taking a sip, Metzli cleared their throat, whisking away the pointy liquid. It was getting a tad bit easier to enjoy. “Will you have any friends visiting? If you give names, I will let them in free.”

Metzli had a way of speaking and communicating that dazzled Inge, albeit in a good way. Straightforward, matter-of-fact and blunt, with no beating around the bush. It was opposite of how she conversed, as she spoke with embellishments and half-truths, dancing around her intentions with extra words. But she liked straight-forward people, most of the time. “It’s good. It’s hard to get wines right — I mean, there’s not much to get wrong, but to get it right … that is a challenge sometimes.”

The idea of selling her art was always a strange one. She wanted money, relished in the security of having a lot of it – especially because there had been plenty of times where she’d had none – but she didn’t make her works to sell them. Still, to know her work was thought good enough to be bought and put up in a stranger’s home was a compliment, and one she took without much complaint. Inge smiled a little, “I don’t doubt it. If you’d want to add anything to your more permanent collection after this, do let me know.”

Her last exhibit had been in New York, which felt like a world apart from this strange, small town. Inge preferred cities, but there was something about Wicked’s Rest, and because of that she was glad to have an exhibit here, too. “I’ll forward you a small list of people you can put on the guest list. I have a few that I’d like to get in for free, yes — but some of the others can pay.” She smirked, giving Metzli a look. “I’m excited to see the public’s response.”

Continuing through the exhibit, Metzli led the pair toward a sculpture they were particularly fond of, nodding along to Inge. They raised a finger, placing their glass down and retrieving their cellphone to send a quick text to Rachel to let her know there would be a list of guests for Inge. She replied instantly with a simple thumbs up emoji, to which Metzli shook their head. They sighed, pocketing their device, “It is strange that people respond with these emojis.” It was efficient, sure. Rachel let Metzli know in a single symbol that she would await for the list, but still. They wanted clear words, not a random collection of colorful pixels that didn’t even match her skin tone.

“Rachel will be waiting for list.” They nodded, regarding the sculpture they wanted to discuss. The most beautiful one that Metzli had had the honor to lay eyes on. They had been adamant that they needed to be the one that prepped it, knowing their plans to purchase it as a permanent addition to MuertArte’s collection. Eyes gleamed and stared reverently, a stark contrast to the rest of their stoic visage. “Want to discuss this beautiful piece.” The delicacy of it was profound, strength found in the expertise of Inge’s ability to mix. It combined creativity and anatomy, science and art meeting to bring the audience a masterful take on their own autonomy. Metzli needed it. Craved it. Thirsted for the visual flow and sense of movement throughout.

“Wish to purchase for the gallery. It is favorite. Will give you ten-thousand for it.”

As Metzli commented on the use of emojis, Inge thought they sounded rather old. It was a notion she shared, in some sense — she did think that words conveyed more than any tiny pictures ever could. But Inge was old, in a way. “I agree. Some of them are cute and can be a nice addition to a message, but the message itself? Needs to be written.” Rachel had been an emoji enthusiast, even she had picked up on that in their short time of knowing each other. It seemed that was who Metzli had contacted. “I’ll send it to her shortly, then.”

She looked at Metzli as they looked at her work. She didn’t create to get praise or applause, but she did create to get a reaction. Something like fear, preferably — but anything would do. To bore those who witnessed her art could undo her, she was sure of it. Metzli was a worthy witness and Inge was glad to see their face change as they looked at the immobilized version of a bird.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Selling ones art was strange, Inge found. She was glad it was a source of income, especially as she remembered not making anything from her art — but still, to put a price on a piece of work seemed strangely perverse. It helped that she liked money, needed it. Her annoyance with how art had been commodified, turned into a product even, only went so far. “And I would like to sell, yes.” It was very forward of the other to already name their price. She looked at them. “Fifteen.”

When Inge gave her counteroffer, it gave Metzli pause. Not because they were offended, or because they were upset. In fact, they were impressed that Inge knew her worth, and they offered her a smile, a real one, in return, accompanied by a nod. “For that, I will add another three-thousand. Artists like you that push worth are my favorite.” And selfishly, Metzli really wanted to keep the piece for display while also ensuring Inge got her share, what she was owed for her talent and effort. It was still a strange concept, them being able to have a business, let alone being able to afford such high prices. But that was how things were. It wasn’t the trading and bartering they once knew.

“The world runs on money now. Well,” They juggled their head side to side, pondering for a few beats. “There was trading and money, but now money is everything.” Shaking their head, Metzli tutted with disapproval, waving for Inge to follow them back to their office as they continued to speak. “In return for having the honor of displaying your work, I will make check for eighteen-thousand, then maybe we can discuss a permanent collection as well?” Their intonation peaked at a higher pitch than normal, making the question even more noticeable.

“Without people like you, art will be lost and I want to make sure this is not something that happens. If money can do this, then there will be…” Brows pinched together as Metzli searched their brain for the English word they needed. Upon finding it, their face relaxed. “…adapting.” They reached the office and found themself seated at their desk, gesturing for Inge to take a seat, too. “I must give my gratitude to you, Inge.”

Drawers slid open, wood and metal’s smooth friction a satisfying roll. Metzli pulled out their logbook and checks, closing everything softly before regarding Inge once more. “It has been many years since an artist has given me motivation to create. Your mind is beautiful and I have much hope that you and your people have a good time at this exhibition.” To give Inge a moment, Metzli began scribbling all the information needed for the artist’s payment, happy to have found a visionary among the sea of bleak and untalented artists.

She liked Metzli. That was definitive now, and not just because they were giving her money. Sure, that helped, but it was rather the way Metzli responded to her asking for more money that made her lips spread into a smile. “I think that means we have a deal.” Quick and to the point, which seemed to be how the other approached most things in life. Inge liked them for that, too, even if it was quite different from how she tended to approach things.

They did have a strange way of speaking at times, but she didn’t find herself overthinking it too deeply. Inge nodded, “It does, yes. It’s silly sometimes, to tack a price tag onto art. To measure it by something as … mundane and dividing as money. But alas, there’s rent to pay! Materials to buy.” She followed the other, taking another sip from her glass and looking at her piece over her shoulder. It was impossible to lug around with her, when she was to inevitably part from Wicked’s Rest and this was a worthy place for it. “That all sounds good to me.”

Metzli’s praise was like wood to a fire, making Inge’s ego swell and burn brighter. The value of art was lost on plenty of people, especially in today’s day and age. “Ah, tell me about it. I worry about the place of art in the future, you know? These rapidly evolving technologies, they’re …” She pulled a face. “Not only hard to keep up with, but a threat! More funds should go to the art — not just privately, though I appreciate it, deeply, but also publicly.” A bit political, but it was true.

Her face brightened a little. “Oh, well — I’m honored. I think your work is astounding, you know, so to inspire you …” Inge shrugged. “It’s a nice side effect of our collaboration. I would love to see what it is you end up working on, will you share it with me when it is done?”

The scribbling came to a halt so that their eyes could take a moment to truly digest what Inge was saying. Speaking of technology the way she did made her sound older than she looked. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, that was usually an indication of something else. “Inge…?” Metzli began, on the brink of a question, but stopped short when their phone began to vibrate. They ceased the buzzing immediately with a press of a button, suddenly remembering what the rest of the day’s plans were.

Their entire body bristled at the thought of Chuy, and they swallowed thickly as they centered themself with the final details of Inge’s check. What were they going to ask? Brows furrowed and eyes blinked rapidly as Metzli attempted to remember, but their mind was clouded with the fog of stress and anxiety. “Apologies. Do not remember what I was going to ask.” They took a shallow breath, putting the pen down with a bit of finality before tearing out the check to hand to Inge. Ants were already beginning to crawl down their fingers, the intensity of their march growing more and more uncomfortable. As much as they were enjoying Inge’s company, they knew their time had come to an end, and they needed to excuse themself.

“If you have wish to explore, you can do so. I have one more meeting to prepare for before the opening and then we can celebrate you with all guests here.” Metzli offered Inge a robotic smile as they shook her hand, somehow managing to exude friendliness and warmth in their attempt at being a person. It was crooked and all their own, even if it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Please let Rachel know if you need anything. I am looking forward to your event. It is…” Their smile turned brighter as they huffed a brief puff of laughter through their nose at the reality of it all. Freedom was beautiful and it was amazing what a person could do with it. “Happiness. It is happiness.”

#works of art.#metzli.#threads.

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