By Pamela Love
“Do you mean to tell me that Henry Wotton of all people invited an American peasant to one of his parties?” Dorian Gray wrinkled his flawless nose.
Gazing with admiration at the dark-haired woman in navy-blue silk chatting with Lord Henry, Basil Hallward shook his head. “Caroline Brooks is scarcely a peasant, Dorian. True, she was a farmwife, but she had her sculpture exhibited at the American Centennial, not to mention last year’s Columbian Exposition. Months ago, her work was shown at the Exposition Universelle in Paris. As an artist, she’s certainly more distinguished than I.”
An auburn beauty strolling past tapped Dorian on the arm with her ostrich-plume fan. “My cousin commissioned a family portrait in marble from Mrs. Brooks. Lovely piece of work.”
Dorian blinked in surprise. He couldn’t recall the redhead’s first name, but he’d never forget her last—she was a Vanderbilt, a member of one of the wealthiest families in the world. Perhaps there’s more to this American than I’d thought.
He turned back toward Mrs. Brooks, narrowing his golden eyebrows thoughtfully. To his surprise, she returned the scrutiny, their blue and brown eyes connecting across the room. Her head tilted, causing a few carefully arranged curls to slide across her forehead. Surely she couldn’t have heard me from all the way over there…
Dismissing the thought, Dorian stepped away for more brandy.
***
As usual, Gray arrived fashionably late to Henry’s next soiree. Instead of the typical groups of two or three drinking, flirting, and gossiping, he found all the guests crowded around something on the mahogany dining table.
“Astounding work, my dear. Congratulations. Ah, there you are, Dorian,” With a flourish toward something concealed behind his frame, Lord Henry Wotton declared, “Behold! The latest masterpiece of the renowned Caroline Brooks.”
Gray, expecting some new dish or perhaps a floral arrangement, was stunned to see a bas-relief portrait of himself as the centerpiece! As a wave of titters swept the room, he gasped at the carving, his image raised slightly from its oval background. It’s like a giant version of the cameos several of the ladies are wearing.
“Mrs. Caroline Brooks, I have the honor of presenting your muse, Mr. Dorian Gray,” Lord Henry announced. Mrs. Brooks held out a gloved hand.
Dorian, however, neither kissed it—as was his wont—nor even shook it. He stood hypnotized by his likeness. “I—I had heard you worked in marble, which this is not.”
Mrs. Brooks nodded. “Sometimes, but Lord Henry gave me a photograph of you and commissioned me to create this for tonight. I wouldn’t have had enough time to complete it in stone. I used my preferred medium, which I began sculpting with to raise money for the family farm. It’s how I first gained fame.”
“But what is it made of? That faint shade of creamy yellow—I’ve never seen anything like it. Ivory, perhaps?” He extended a tentative forefinger toward it.
“Not many elephants roam Kansas, I’m afraid.” She let out a silvery laugh and blocked his finger with her palm. “It’s butter. Don’t touch, or you’ll leave a permanent fingerprint.”
“Butter?” He stepped back. “You exhibit butter sculptures at exhibitions? How is that even possible?”
“Ice, my boy.” Lord Henry clapped him on the back. “Your portrait lazes on a bed of ice. Good thing you weren’t much later, or it might’ve melted. I believe it’s begun to already. Notice how the edges are softening?
“Now that everyone’s seen it, perhaps I should have it cut into pieces for the bread-and-butter plates.” Wotton squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Why, Dorian, are you feeling all right? You look rather as though you are wilting yourself.”
Dorian scarcely needed that warning. While his posture was normally as impeccable as any other part of his outward aspect, he felt himself beginning to slouch. Could this dairy depiction of me somehow affect my appearance, even as my behavior affects the painting Basil made? That picture grows fouler by the day, even though my face remains as handsome as ever.
He decided not to risk it. “Madam, may I have a word with you in private?” He took Mrs. Brooks by the elbow, trying to appear gallant.
Knowing his reputation, other guests jestingly urged the lady to show caution. Another warned Gray, “Remember, she’s a married woman. You don’t want her husband coming after you with a scythe, do you?” he guffawed.
Although not invited, Lord Henry followed the pair into his elegant foyer.
Dorian bowed. “I’ll get right to the point, Mrs. Brooks. I’ll pay twice what Lord Henry did for the original work if I might have it at once.” Glancing at his reflection in a bronze-framed mirror, Dorian hastily added, “That is, if you would touch it up, madam. You do have your tools with you, do you not?”
The sculptress patted her evening bag. “Yes, but—”
Wotton pressed a hand to his chest. “Far be it from me to stand between an artist and a new patron. Personally, I have already been rewarded. This evening has been quite an a-muse-ing experience, wouldn’t you say?” It was unclear whether he smirked at his pun, Dorian’s discomfort, or both.
“You are most generous, Mr. Gray. For such a price, I would be delighted to begin a portrait bust in marble later this week instead.”
“No, no. I want the original work, and repaired, as soon as possible. Please have more ice sent up immediately, Henry.” He felt his spine twist and his knees grow wobbly. Perhaps I am imagining things. After all, the portrait shows only my face. Still, butter safe than sorry.
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Loved the depiction of Dorian carved out of butter. The scene you painted was exquisite. Perfect ending line, “butter safe than sorry.”
Thanks! I enjoy word play.
Caroline Brooks was a real person, and her work was exhibited in the places I described and commissioned by a Vanderbilt. At the Centennial, she carved another sculpture while people watched.
So as I understand it, Real Dorian’s negative states manifests onto Painted Dorian. Butter Dorian’s negative states manifest onto Real Dorian. But negative states are not transferred downline, as it was Real Dorian that experienced Butter Dorian’s negative state, not Painted Dorian (who would otherwise experience Real Dorian’s negative states).
This implies that Dorian could commission a butter sculpture of his painting, and destroy the sculpture, which would thus destroy his painting. But because states are not transferred downline, the destruction of the painting would not destroy Dorian, which would otherwise happen if the painting was directly destroyed. He could be free of his painting and suffer no ill effects.
Freed, with no ill effects….
All that said, I’m off to commission a butter sculpture of my mother-in-law.
Hmmm…
Obviously, my mother-in-law could simple commission a painting of my butter sculpture to absorb any negative states that the butter sculpture is subjected to, so I should probably commission a butter sculpture of a painting my butter sculpture of my mother-in-law to preemptively prevent her frustrating my plans.
…but now that I think about it, she could commission a painting of a sculpture of a painting of a sculpture of her, so I should probably get a sculpture of a painting of a sculpture of a painting of a sculpture of her made as well….
Very meta!