Queueing was not Kay’s forte. In fact, anything that involved standing around, keeping quiet or being patient did not come naturally to her, which was one reason why this gallery trip would be a struggle. So when the receptionist on the desk at the White Box Gallery stamped her ticket, well really, he was asking for trouble.
‘You must wear your backpack on your front, or hold it down by your side,’ the receptionist said.
Kay sighed as she slid it off. ‘What about her?’ she asked, nodding at the young lady in front, who was entering the gallery with a dainty red bag nestled between her shoulder blades. The lady turned and gave Kay a sharp look, to which she responded with a smile.
‘That bag is small enough,’ the receptionist replied. ‘Yours is not.’
So, bag in hand, Kay followed the lady with the small enough rucksack into the gallery. The space lived up to its on-the-nose name, a big white box smattered with pieces of modern art that had been grouped under the loose exhibition theme of ‘Visions’. There was the usual offering of artworks: a controversial Jim Mantle painting, a woollen coil by newcomer Tara Kennedy snaking down a wall, an untitled grid of mouse traps placed on the floor guarded by a DO NOT CROSS line, a triptych of explicit Rosie Sykes sketches, a neon sign reading ‘Love is one of my feelings’ that could be by Tracey Emin or indeed, any other human being.
The small-bag lady went straight for a white pedestal in the centre of the room, which was adorned with an oversized gold-cast gummy bear. Kay treated it to an admiring glance as she passed by on her first quick loop of the exhibition.
She paused in front of a Rothko painting and nodded thoughtfully to herself. ‘I think the red really captures the life force inside of us, and the way it bleeds down into the purple, it’s like… our bloodline coursing through the generations,’ she said to an elderly gentleman who had also been enjoying the work. He must have had enough enjoyment from the piece, however, because he gave her a brief frown and strode away.
Shrugging, Kay whipped out her phone and lined up a selfie in front of the painting. She posed, snapped a picture and was dazzled by the flash. ‘Miss!’ cried the gallery attendant, marching over to her in short furious steps. ‘There is to be no flash photography in this room. You will damage the paintings!’
‘The paintings – what about my eyes?’ Kay said, rubbing them. ‘It’s way too dim in here for that.’
‘It must be dim to preserve the work,’ the attendant snapped.
‘Right,’ Kay said, regarding the man. He looked middle-aged, with a taut face, receding hairline and waistcoat that was just a touch too tight. He sniffed at her, before backing away to his perch by the door where he could watch the gallery like a low-stakes lifeguard. On the other side of the entrance was the security guy, a much more intimidating figure. Kay gave them both a thumbs up, before switching off her flash and taking a more successful photograph.
Deciding to mix things up, Kay crossed the room, passing the lady by the golden gummy bear (which a sign had told her was the jewel in the crown of the exhibition, a real gold ornament sculpted by the multi-award-winning hands of the esteemed Gideon Buckler’s team of assistants). ‘Nice bear,’ Kay said, making the lady start. But she didn’t stop, because another piece had caught her eye.
What first appeared to be a canvas wrapped in sequined fabric, revealed itself – as she got closer – to instead be an incredibly lifelike painting of such. Amazed, Kay reached out a hand to touch the canvas and check if it was in fact real.
‘Don’t you even think about allowing your appendage to make contact with that artwork!’ the gallery attendant hissed from his folding chair.
‘Alright,’ Kay mouthed, holding up her hands. But as she turned her back on the attendant, she gave the painting a sneaky brush anyway. Strolling towards the back of the gallery, she glanced up to see the security camera panning with her. I guess someone thinks I don’t look very trustworthy, she thought. She whipped out her phone to check the time (and Instagram). 11:37. Her attention span was waning.
She stopped by a white cubic block, which displayed a collection of figurines made from a variety of recycled materials – tin foil, wooden dowels and bottle tops. Kay checked the description to see if it was a statement on the abuse of the environment, a school project or just the work of a creative cleaner.
Inspired by the use of culinary packaging, Kay realised she was hungry and reached into her bag for a packet of Wotsits. She slipped her rucksack over her shoulder to free up both hands for crisp-related purposes, but before she’d even opened the packet, the gallery attendant stormed over.
‘You cannot eat those things in he–’ he began, but he was swiftly cut off when Kay turned towards him, her rucksack swiping across the block and sending the figurines cascading to the floor as if they’d been hit by a wrecking ball. They clattered to the stone floor, disintegrating into their original components. The man let out a choked gasp in horror.
‘Ah…’ Kay said. ‘I guess that explains the bag rule.’
All the other visitors had turned to stare at the scene, their faces filled with more fascination than any of the artworks had mustered. The gallery attendant was stricken. He sank to his knees, reaching out to the fragments of the sculptures, only to draw his fingers back at the last moment before they made contact.
‘It’s OK,’ Kay said. ‘We can fix this.’ She crouched down next to the attendant, grabbed a skewer and foil appendage, and tried to spike them back together.
‘Please… please stop doing that,’ the attendant said in a heartbroken whisper.
‘It’s fine, we’ll have it back together in no time.’ Kay gave the foil a twist in an attempt to create a more humanoid shape. At this the attendant flinched.
‘These are irreparable!’ he cried.
‘Course they’re not,’ Kay replied. She got to her feet and placed her sculpture on the white block. ‘There we go. Hey look, we’re recycling the pieces – the artist would probably love that!’
‘No no no!’ The attendant started sweeping the remaining broken pieces away from Kay, shielding them from further harm.
‘We could even make some new ones, see.’ She tore open her bag of Wotsits, tipped the crisps onto the surface in a cloud of orange dust and tried to fix the packet onto her figurine. ‘Ta dah!’
Screaming as if he were witnessing a murder, the attendant reached out to grab Kay or maybe even throttle her. She jumped backwards, and then in the air, as something snapped at her shoe.
The attendant screeched again. Kay looked down to see she’d landed in the middle of the grid of (what were once) precisely arranged mousetraps. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered in the moment before a domino-chain of snapping springs began. She jumped for dear life, scrambling to get out of the grid.
‘Security!’ the attendant shouted, his face now a glowing beetroot.
Kay felt burly hands gripping her upper arms, wrenching her out of the mousetraps. ‘I’m so sorry –’ she began, before the breath whooshed out of her lungs. The guard dragged her across the room, away from the traumatised attendant, through transfixed visitors, past the empty pedestal, and out of the front doors.
‘Well, that was an experience,’ Kay said to herself, as she stepped out onto the sunny street. She glanced around, ran a slightly shaking hand through her hair and straightened her jacket. Spotting a figure leaning against a lamppost at the corner of the road, she trotted off in that direction.
The lady scowled as Kay approached. ‘You’re far too reckless,’ she said. ‘What were you playing at, trying to give me away?’
Kay pouted at her and chuckled. ‘I’m allowed to have a little fun, aren’t I, Elle?’
Elle rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Kay ran to catch up as the woman marched round the corner. ‘Give us a look at it, will you? Just a peek?’
Elle hesitated for a moment, before slipping off her red bag – small enough when it needed to be, but just big enough for its purpose. She checked to make sure no one was paying them any attention, before unbuckling the flap and allowing Kay a quick look inside. Sunlight caught the golden teddy’s ear and sparkled in her eyes.
‘Elle, I think I’m just reckless enough.’
‘Art Breakers’ is joined by nine other stories in my collection, The Other World.