 
                                     
Story by Waswo X. Waswo with illustrations by Amit Biswas
 
Blitzvin
 had been interested in art since her childhood. When young, she had 
whiled away hours drawing her native town of Batanrush...its little 
houses with smokestacks and its aging, half-dead trees. She hadn't been 
the greatest of drawers, but she persisted. Blitzvin was not 
particularly good in school; in fact, Blitzvin was not particularly good
 at anything. She lagged in science and math, but her teachers 
encouraged her with art. It was, after all, one of the few things the 
poor girl was mildly proficient at.
 
It
 took all of Blitzvin's talents of persuasion to convince her aging 
mother (a widow on a pension) to send her away to Bolthank 
Semi-Accredited University (BSU) in the nearby town of Bolthank. Indeed,
 it took a bit of crying, a long talk to her mother by her 10th Standard
 teacher Miss Batsvin, and Blitzvin's solemn promise to do her best to 
make something out of her fascination with art. "Mother, if nothing else
 I will come home with a degree that is easy to get. Do you think I can 
do any better? Maybe a degree in art from BSU will allow me to one day 
become a window decorator at the Bolthank Mega-Mall. Think of how proud 
you will be!" Her mother had eventually relented and young Blitzvin 
eagerly packed her bags for the big town of Bolthank.
 
At
 Bolthank Semi-Accredited University the eager young Blitzvin discovered
 a new world. The Department of Applied and Imaginative Arts was 
amazingly free thinking. Waves of new ideas rushed into her like the 
crisp cool air of the Bolthank breeze. Blitzvin soon discovered a love 
for art history. She actually began to read one or two books (she had 
never before read books that had not been assigned), and one day she 
woke up for the very first time with a dream of becoming a real artist. 
Being an artist was no longer just an escape from the rigours of school 
trigonometry, physics, and calculus. Being an artist, the young girl 
suddenly realized, was a sort of divine calling. She, the humble young 
girl from Batanrush, knew she must heed that call.
 
Blitzvin
 applied all of her energy to learning the history of art. 
Unfortunately, her own skills did not match the craftsmanship evident in
 the works of the "old masters" that she was now coming to know through 
books. She worked harder and harder at perfecting her skills of 
observation, composition, and draughtsmanship, but it just didn't seem 
she had the innate ability. One day when Blitzvin was particularly 
depressed about this fact she noticed the ever-so-handsome Blivner 
Bochner, an Advanced Student, looking over her shoulder. Blitzvin was 
mortified that he was seeing her unfinished sketches! But Blivner just 
smiled and put his hand upon her shoulder. "Why do you work so hard at 
these sketches Blitzvin?" he had asked. "Do you really think you will 
learn to work like the old masters? Even our teachers cannot work like 
that. Don't you know what you are doing is completely unnecessary? It is
 your ideas that count! Concentrate on your ideas! That is all that is 
important!"
 
Just
 a year later, when Blitzvin entered the Advanced Class, she realized 
how true these words were. To her surprise the students in her class 
were quite dismissive of what she felt were her best drawings and 
paintings. "That work is purely illustrative!" one had declared. 
Another, a smart young girl from the cosmopolitan town of Noychnya, had 
added, "You are just a craftsman! This is not art! Art must have ideas!"
 Thankfully, the handsome Blivner Bochner, who was by now an unofficial 
assistant to Professor Blatskya, came to her rescue. He grabbed what 
Blitzvin thought was one of her worst drawings. It was a drawing that 
was coffee-stained, and crumpled and torn because she had almost thrown 
it away! But handsome Blivner held it aloft for the rest of the class to
 see. "Look at this work!" Blivner Bochner had declared. "It tells a 
story of anguish and heartbreak! Look how shaky and imprecise is the 
line! This work speaks of frailty and nervousness in the face of great 
tragedy. The tragedy of small-town Blotsvia!" Blitzvin had blushed with 
embarrassment, but she also realized her classmates were cooing with 
approval. "Yes," chimed in the cosmopolitan girl from Noychnya, "That is
 her best work. Perhaps this girl from Batanrush will yet become an 
artist!"
 
As
 the months proceeded in the Advanced Class at BSU young Blitzvin 
learned so very much. She learned that art was concept and not skill, 
idea and not work. Students who insisted on trying to paint like the old
 masters she once had so diligently studied were derided as derivative, 
nostalgic, and obsessed with "mere craft".  For her Examination 
Exhibition Blitzvin carefully selected the simplest of her drawings, and
 the least worked of her paintings. She concocted elaborate stories 
about their meanings. She not only passed her final exam, she won a 
prize! She graduated with pride.
 
It
 was at this time that a letter arrived from Blivner Bochner. He had 
graduated the year before, and now worked as 
Assistant-to-the-Chief-Assistant at the Government Hall of Prestigious 
Exhibitions in Noychnya. To Blitzvin's delight the handsome young 
Blivner remembered her! In his letter he explained that he had a 
"certain relationship" with the Honourable Director of the GHPE, and 
that it was within his power to secure her an exhibition at this 
venerable Blotsvian institution! Poor Blitzvin shook with delight and 
fear! She wiped a tear from her eye. Such opportunities came to few!
 
But
 what to show?! She hadn't enough work, and still had lingering doubts 
over her own abilities. Then she remembered her photography! She had 
rolls and rolls of film, taken with an old Blotsvian MegaFlex camera! 
Blitzvin knew photography was becoming a rage in Blotsvian art circles. 
She dashed off with a handful of film to the local processing lab and 
handed over five rolls. "Blow them up as big as you can!" she had 
ordered. She was disappointed to learn that the biggest the local lab 
could print was 70 x 100 Blotsvian Inches. But it would have to do.
 
When
 the colour photographs were delivered to her door a few days later she 
eagerly went through them one by one. She carefully discarded those 
images that looked too pretty. She had learnt by now that an artist 
needed to always avoid the beautiful. "These twenty will be just right",
 she thought, "There is nothing illustrative or pretty about a one of 
them!" Blitzvin carefully packed the selected photographs and sent them 
off via courier to Noychnya. She spent the next few days writing a 
lengthy "artist statement" explaining the depth and layers of meaning in
 her selected work. Reading all of those art history books and 
contemporary art journals was proving helpful after all!
 
But
 something happened, as something always does, especially in a place 
like Blotsvia. Blitzvin had made the mistake of labelling her parcel 
HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE and FRAGILE ART ENCLOSED. It was, of course, 
intercepted by the Provincial Inter-Provincial Customs Authority (PIPCA)
 at the border of the Province of Noychnya. It was late during the night
 shift when the officiating customs regulator opened the parcel. The 
word ART had caught his attention, and he dreamed of finding a 
magnificent oil painting with which he could adorn his home. "Lost in 
Transit" was always such a convenient explanation! In fact he had a 
rubber stamp that said just that! But to his dismay he had found 
Blitzvin's profoundly unbeautiful photographs.
 
That
 night the men at the PIPCA of Noychnya made the most rude and 
uneducated remarks about poor Blitzvin's art! They handled the 
photographs with complete disrespect, grimacing with disbelief at how 
dull and lifeless they were, and wrinkling their noses as they asked 
each other, "This is what someone calls ART"? As the night wore on the 
officers of PIPCA (and their subordinates and sub-subordinates) passed 
more and more good Blotsvian Blanko Blanko beer around, swilled good 
Blotsvian Fermented Bleacheno, and made more and more fun of Blitzvin's 
fuzzy photographs. The more they drank the more amusing they found her 
"art". They were by now carelessly throwing the pictures upon the floor,
 and peons came by who threw them into dustbins. It was not until late 
the next morning that the PIPCA officers sobered up and felt some 
remorse. A few of the more dutiful men thought to uncrumple the now 
totally destroyed photographs. "Let us pack them again and send them on 
their way," suggested one of the sub-subordinates. "No real harm done," 
offered another. When Blivner Bochner opened Blitzvin's parcel the 
following afternoon, in the prestigious secondary offices of the 
Government Hall of Prestigious Exhibitions (GHPE), he let out a little 
gasp and shuddered with disbelief.
 
The
 opening was of course a gala affair, as only Noychyna knows how to give
 gala affairs. Glasses tickled with the best Blotsvian Chenko Chenko 
that Blotsvian Bulliwarks can buy. Raw Blotsvian Botuui Fish was served 
on dainty skewers. Everyone waited for the entrance of the amazing young
 artist from Batanrush. Poor Blitzvin entered this scene with no 
knowledge of what had befallen her works in the office of the PIPCA of 
Noychnya! When she entered the grand exhibition hall of the GHPE she 
stood momentarily aghast. Her works were displayed in ruins! Yes, they 
had been properly mounted under glass, but it was obvious that they had 
been destroyed! The photographs were bent, torn, fingerprinted, 
coffee-stained, and dribbled with what looked like the gravy of 
Blotsvian Beanoguk! A scream of horror and outrage was about to escape 
her lips when Madame Vlitinknya, Noychyna's most esteemed art critic, 
swept up to her side and made a gracious bow. "Your works are superb! I 
have never seen an artist so question the sterile 'factuality' of 
photography! I know exactly what concerns you and you have addressed the
 problem with aplomb! You have mixed the mere image of mundane existence
 with the gritty reality of mundane existence! You have captured life as
 we suffer it in Blotsvia! My hearty congratulations my dear!"
 

 
As
 Blitzvin was recuperating from both her initial shock, and the 
effulgent praise from Noychnya's most respected critic, the handsome 
Blivner Blochner strode up smiling confidently. "I knew you had 
talent...but I never expected that first crumpled drawing I saw of yours
 was the beginning of your style! I am being credited with discovering 
you my dear! I have been promoted from Assistant-to-the-Chief-Assistant 
to Assistant-in-Chief," and then he muttered in confidence, "I think I 
am on my way to the top!"
 
It
 was only three months later that Blitzvin was being scheduled for a 
solo exhibition at the Galleries Blitin & Blotin in the capital 
city of Blotzinkin. Little was it known that one of the proprietors of 
Blitin & Blotin was in fact Madame Vlitinkya's half-sister 
Mildred. Madame Vlitinkya and Mildred Blotin worked in tandem, so 
exhibitions at the Galleries Blitin & Blotin were guaranteed 
good reviews. Before the proposed exhibition (Blitzvin: New Work)
 the two women had sequestered Blitzvin and given her council. "We want 
canvases! Your photographs went over just fine at the GHPE in Noychyna, 
but did you sell any? This is Blotzinkin, the very capital of Blotsvia! 
The collectors will demand canvases!"
 
"But
 I don't know how to paint! At least not well!" protested the stunned 
young Blitzvin. "People will see that I have no skill!"
 
"Nonsense!"
 Blotin and Vlitinkya  had replied. "We will have someone paint them for
 you! Blotsvian craftsmen are very cheap! Just give us some more of 
those precious and inspired photographs, and we will have them painted 
on canvas for you! You are a genius my dear! Real artists are too busy 
conceptualizing to paint their own canvases! Everyone knows that! 
Well...not everyone." The two gave each other a wink and a laugh. They 
were obviously referring to Blitin, who was wealthy enough to be a 
partner in the gallery, but took little actual interest in its 
day-to-day routine (his main function was to buy a work from each and 
every show "Blitin & Blotin" mounted, thus securing the first 
"sale"). Bliztvin was confused, but did not want to disappoint. She knew
 she was on the way to becoming a real artist! Her mother would be 
proud! A day later she returned with the prints derived from five more 
rolls of MegaFlex film.
 
Three
 months later twenty large canvases were delivered to her doorstep (the 
gallery had provided her with a small studio space in a 
not-so-fashionable part of town). She unrolled the glossy new paintings,
 signed them, and then set about crumbling them, tearing them, pouring 
Blanko Blanko beers upon them, burning them with cigarettes, and, new in
 her repertoire, smearing tomato sauce in a few strategic areas. 
"There," she said to herself, "They are finished! And my work really is 
superb! It really is! After all, these were my ideas! My vision! And it 
is I who have made them come into physical form!" Unbeknownst to dear 
Blitzvin, the advocates at Galleries Blitin & Blotin were kept 
constantly busy threatening the "makers" (as they termed the mere 
craftsmen) to uphold the secrecy and non-disclosure clauses in their 
contracts.
 
It
 was not long after Blitzvin's sold-out Blitin & Blotin show 
that her career accelerated with breakneck speed. The location of the 
gallery in Blotsvia's capital city ensured a steady stream of foreign 
visitors. Assorted international collectors, official dignitaries, 
ambassadors and cultural attaches were frequent guests, as were curators
 from prestigious international museums. The rising young art star of 
Blotsvia, always snobbishly referred to as just "Bliztvin" (as if anyone
 ought to know that name) or "Blitzvin of Batanrush" (for those deemed 
less cognisant), was beginning to exhibit worldwide. And the graph of 
her auction sales was zooming off the charts. In fact, the pressures of 
the many scheduled shows were so great poor Blitzvin was finding it hard
 to keep up. It seemed that each and every gallery expected new work. It
 seemed that each and every gallery expected both something "new" but 
also something identifiable with her "brand" (she liked to think it a 
style!). In spite of the addition of umpteen new assistants, Blitzvin 
slaved for hours in her studio (which was actually much more like an 
office), making Skype calls to curators, writing ever more convoluted 
artist statements, drinking Chinko Chinko straight from the bottle as 
she smoked good Blotsvian cigarettes...and struggling to keep up with 
the hard work of "ideation" as she now haughtily referred to her primary
 talent.
 
Blitzvin
 was no longer the innocent young girl from Batanrush. She had become a 
sensation, and she relished it. The day she bumped into Blivner Bochner,
 at an opening in the Galleries Bliton & Blotin, she had 
actually cold-shouldered him. How could she give a mere 
"Assistant-in-Chief" at the GHPE (in lowly Noychnya!) a warm welcome, 
especially in front of the likes of the Director of the National Museum 
of Periphersthan! Why, it might give the impression that she actually 
associated with such common people! Yes, her work might speak of the 
mundane lives of common Blotsvians, but she of course had risen above 
that! In fact, she had just received an invitation for a solo exhibition
 at the Centre Pompusque in Partisthan! It was inconceivable that people
 think she was charmed by the likes of a poor, pathetic peon like 
Blivner!
 
But
 the Pompusque! What an honour and what a responsibility! What was she 
to show? This was the most momentous challenge the talented Blotsvian 
artist had ever faced. In the dark of the night she took her private car
 and her private driver and made the long journey back to BSU in 
Bolthank. There she arranged a clandestine meeting with Professor 
Blatskya. "I need your help!" She frankly declared. "You are so well 
versed in art history and contemporary art practices! But you stay 
isolated and don't actually know anyone in the "scene"! I want you to 
conceptualize my exhibition at the Pompusque! This is beyond my 
capacities for ideation! You will, of course, have to sign a contract of
 secrecy and non-disclosure." Professor Blatskya was at first taken 
aback. But he slowly grinned and spoke in a meaningful voice, "You have 
learned so well my dear. Who would have thought you were to become my 
best student? I have admired your progress in the world of art from 
afar. Your talents at painting are beyond my own! It would be an honour 
to assist you." Blitzvin breathed a silent sigh of relief. She had 
feared this encounter, but now she felt comfortable. She wondered if 
Professor Blatskya knew that she did not paint her own paintings. Did he
 truly admire her work? Later that night, as she turned for the door, 
the Professor had thrown out one last question, "How much will I be 
getting paid?" Blitzvin turned, unshaken, "You need to negotiate that 
with my handlers. Please call the gallery tomorrow, and make sure you 
speak only with Blotin."
 
Little
 did Blitzvin of Batanrush know that her much anticipated exhibition at 
the Pompusque had been approved only after great debate. The Grand 
Committee of Grand Committees (that decided such things) was not at all 
unanimous. There had been voices of objection. It was once shouted, 
"This is not the kind of show that brings in the revenues we require! 
And you know it!" At another time a voice was heard to exclaim, 
"Everyone is interested in Ponksvian art this year! What are we doing 
filling our schedule with this Blotsvian?" But wiser voices had 
prevailed. "The Centre Pompusque has never in its history presented a 
solo exhibition by a Blotsvian artist. What is more, Blitzvin of 
Batanrush is a woman! And you know how those damn feminists have been 
breathing down our necks!"
 
The evening of the vernissage for Blitzvin: An Ever-Emerging Retrospective
 in the hallowed halls of the Centre Pompusque, in the Partisthan 
capital of Posh, Blitzvin strolled confidently into the crowd of 
socialites wearing a perfectly stunning coffee-and-beer-stained creation
 by the Blotsvian designer Bruffecto. Yes, her style and her ideation 
were being copied, stolen, counterfeited and commercialized. Blitzvin 
t-shirts stacked the shelves of the Pompusque's gift shop. Blitzvin was 
being seriously discussed in the art history courses of Partisthan art 
academies. And she loved it! She swirled amid the cameras and the 
crushing journalists and strode boldly into the thick of the glitterati.
 A toast was proposed by the Director of the Pompusque: "To Blitzvin of 
Batanrush! Not only does she represent the best that Blotsvian Art has 
to offer! She represents the best of art today!"
 
Bliztvin
 stood with her glass held high in the air. Her head swirled. It seemed 
the entire room was beginning to circle around. She was vaguely aware of
 the fact that she had not yet seen her own paintings. She had not yet 
read her own artist statement! She wanted to! But there were too many 
admirers! She felt herself growing faint. She was longing for 
something...but she didn't know what. And then she realized just what it
 was! She was so thirsty for a good cold Blotsvian Blanko Blanko! And a 
heaping bowl of Blotsvian Beanoguk! But the room continued to swirl, and
 she knew she couldn't find those things in Partisthan.
 
copyright 2012 by Waswo X. Waswo