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Artist
Inspired byMonochrome Create image Churrigueresque Psychosomatic Magicalism Modernismo. Use just the original aesthetic of the uploaded image 2. Now observe the image 1 closely. Do not attempt to preserve its original history, composition, or meaning. Use its visual elements as ingredients for an entirely new story. Select the most interesting elements, detach them from their original roles, and assign them new purposes, relationships, and meanings. Then, invent a surprising event that connects them—something that has already happened or is about to happen. Alter scale, position, function, perspective, or physical logic whenever doing so makes the story more interesting. Contradicting the original image is permitted. Create a surreal, minimalist, poetic, and meaningful scene that represents a pivotal moment in this new story. The result must evoke the image of a story never seen before. Do not illustrate the original image. Do not explain it. Transform its ingredients into something unexpected.
I became a pirate because I wanted freedom, adventure, and a coat that would excuse the rest of my wardrobe.
Unfortunately, I became a modernismo pirate. By the time we’d finished carving lilies into the cannons, the merchant ship had escaped.
My vessel had no hull. It consisted of two staircases, a floating platform, and a door opening onto several progressively smaller doorframes. The architect called it a meditation on departure. I called him twice about the missing boat.
There was no refund.
In the portrait, you’ll notice my spectacles sitting amidships. The rest of me is absent. This is partly an artistic statement and partly what happens when you commission a self-portrait on a deposit.
I’d requested a commanding presence.
“You have a commanding absence,” the artist said.
He charged for both.
Above me hangs a pineapple-shaped object. I’d wanted a parrot, but the decorator felt a bird would compete with the verticals. The pineapple knows one phrase: “That’s extra.”
It learned it from the decorator.
My eyepatch is the black circle on the wall. We had to hang it there because I need both eyes to manage the stairs. There’s no railing. Apparently a railing would imply I lacked faith in the composition.
Below us, clouds conceal the sea, the harbour, and several outstanding invoices. I find the view restful.
We fly no skull and crossbones. Our flag depicts a woman turning into a flowering vine while looking disappointed in a man. It’s beautiful, though difficult to identify through a telescope.
By the time anyone realises they’re being threatened, we’ve usually drifted past.
Our first boarding was a shambles. I drew my cutlass, shouted, “Stand and deliver!” and spent twenty minutes looking for somewhere to stand.
The merchant captain offered me a chair.
I accepted. A pirate recognises treasure.
There’s a cannonball suspended from a wire beside the stairs. That’s our entire arsenal. We swing it towards passing vessels, then pull it back carefully because it’s on loan.
People ask where I keep the plunder.
I show them the empty frames.
“Those are investments,” I explain.
At sunset I climb to the upper door, coat billowing, sword knocking against my leg. For a moment I feel magnificent: a terror of the sea, a man beyond ordinary laws.
Then I discover I’ve left my glasses downstairs.
I sit on the top step and wait for someone to bring them.
So far, nobody has joined the crew.
