Brevity
Charcoal City... a bustling metropolis to most... but to Dioptase, the world renown and anonymous street artist... a canvas.
When a painting bought by a local tattooist is revealed to be of incredible value, the procurer and her friends find themselves targeted by the corrupt parties that want it for themselves.
In order to preserve the message and keep the painting out of the hands of a villainous mob family, the mysterious creator must intervene while circumnavigating their own complicated connections to the predicament.
Brevity is a mini-series saga of art, crime, family, friendship, labor, and hidden identity.
Brevity
Episode 1
Use Left/Right to seek, Home/End to jump to start or end. Hold shift to jump forward or backward.
Transactions of Art... A Resting Place Vacated... Origin Surprise...
Voice Actors: Bob Cooner, Molly Lynch, Tara Kempton, Scott Wike, CJ Cinco, Jules Burn, Matthew Abergel, Melissa Jones, and Kacey Johnston.
Written, Narrated, and Produced by Mark Johnston
www.constellationaudio.biz
Photo Credit: Seth Steward
Music by Mark Johnston
Constellation Audio probably presents by Mark Johnston. Episode one.
SPEAKER_03Sold for $375,000 to Mr. Haroldson. Congratulations, sir. Next up for bidding, we have a very special offering for you today. A four-foot by six-foot concrete slab adorned with an oil-based painting by the anonymous street artist known as Dioptes. Depicted is an intricate rendition of a toad-like creature with the jaw and teeth of a shark, ablaze in flames on a field of lavender. In the lower left corner is the signature teal tetragonal prism, a known mark of the creator. This piece has also been authenticated on mosaic through the verified account of the world-famous and mysterious artist. I will start the bidding at $800,000. Do I have $800,000? Thank you, sir, for starting us off. Do I have $850,000? $850,000?
SPEAKER_04In a remarkably bland showroom for an art auction, Laurel Castell, a reporter for Charcoal City's Channel 7 News, observes in amazement at the bizarre spectacle. Wealthy bidders clamoring for the cartoonish painting embellished upon a section of concrete wall from a front street high rise. She had overheard a conversation on the way in about the building owner who eagerly hired a crew to cut the monstrosity right out of the fifth floor exterior. From the looks of the bidding so far, it appears to have been quite the lucrative decision.
SPEAKER_03That's 1,500,000 from the gentleman on the left. Do I have 1,006?
SPEAKER_04The reporter stands at the back of the hall to take in the whole scene. Bidding paddles are flying into the air repeatedly as the price of the painting continues to climb higher. While this observer is clearly no art critic, she must admit that the hand behind these brush strokes possessed a distinct and certain talent. It was hard to pinpoint the exact appeal of the work, but there was no mistaking that it was in fact a splendid arrangement of energy and balance. A captivating array of raw power amid subtle decadence. The brightness of the colors, the sheer abyss of the black outline spiraling throughout. Still, regardless of the talent, Laurel could not fathom the rabid desire that this glorified graffiti had begun to stir up. It was a rarity, sure. As far as she knew, most of these verified street pieces by Dioptes tended to disappear shortly after their flowering, a mystery as dumbfounding as the identity of the creator. The swiftness with which this rendering was ripped from its resting place secured one of the few ever preserved for sale. Scarcity and trendiness, two strong indicators of a collector's desire.
SPEAKER_03Two million dollars from the woman in blue front row. Thank you, madam. Do I have two million one hundred thousand?
SPEAKER_04The woman in blue was clearly a buyer's representative, speaking into a cell phone between bids. Her resolute countenance, one of unwavering determination. The number of bidders had now begun to thin out, leaving the three or four most eager to flex their new outlandish purchase. Of these last remaining bidders, only one was representing themselves, Mr. Jerome Haraldson, a well-known collector, philanthropist, and businessman in Charcoal City. He had already secured a couple of fine purchases that day, but appeared to be losing steam in this battle against the hell-bent bids of the blue-suited viper in the front row. There is a sense that a champion would soon be crowned. 2,500,000 going once, going twice. The auctioneer eagerly waves his gavel back and forth across the room to survey the hall for any last bidders. In the corner of her eye, she notices a figure quickly slip out of the double door exit near to her. All she could make out was a dark beanie covering their head and a baggy sweatshirt concealing any semblance of shape. The shoes of the escapee stood out the most. Black converse all-stars, splattered with many colors of paint. Out of curiosity, she follows the Enigma out of the room.
SPEAKER_00Hey!
SPEAKER_04By the time she makes it through the doors, the figure is gone. Washed away in a rush hour crowd, bustling down the busy street.
SPEAKER_08Come on back. I'm just getting finished setting up.
SPEAKER_04Inside Charcoal City tattoo, an eager customer returns for the final of three sessions to complete a dazzling, full-color, three-quarter sleeve work of perfection. For his first major tattoo, Freddy didn't dare take a chance with any ordinary artist. He sought out one of the city's absolute finest. She came highly recommended, and after just glancing at her portfolio, Freddy's mind was put at ease. When she took his original drawing, a silly, unrefined embarrassment in retrospect, and reimagined it into a truly unbelievable artistic wonder, any hesitation he still had was long gone. The level of detail, the mixture of colors and perfect shading, an outline stronger than oak, and the perfect balance of compositional weight. He didn't care for a second about the cost. He was going to proudly wear a Coral Seguero original for the rest of his life.
SPEAKER_01I'm pumped to get this thing finished. I can't wait to show it off.
SPEAKER_04Coral finishes her prep work, dips her needle into the ink, and dives right into the exposed skin of Freddy's tricep. The squirming canvas grits his teeth and settles in for the final installment.
SPEAKER_09Yeah, this is coming out nicely. I've done a handful of ocean wave tattoos in my time, but never one that morphs into a close fit.
SPEAKER_01What was the quote again? Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean.
SPEAKER_09That's right. A union thing.
SPEAKER_01Yep. Proud charcoal city footman, third generation. Grandpa built this city, dad brought it into the modern age. Of course, the union isn't what it was back then.
SPEAKER_09Oh, yeah?
SPEAKER_01Yeah. It's all corrupt now at the top. And that trickles down through the ranks. Seems like half the guys are roped into the shady stuff now. Our president just bought a two million dollar piece of concrete the other day, if that tells you anything. What kind of union boss spends like that? The diopties? Yeah, it's all over the news. Why don't you start painting on walls? You're way more talented than that guy. What makes you say it's a guy? I uh I just I don't know.
SPEAKER_09It's all good. You're probably right. Only a dude would paint stupid shit like that.
SPEAKER_01You don't like it? I mean, it's not terrible, right? Clearly, some people dig it.
SPEAKER_09It's fucking incredible. It's just there are a lot of great artists in the city, but Diabetes gets all the hype like there's some mass superhero or something. All these fans strung along with manufactured novelty. I don't know. It's just not my thing.
SPEAKER_01I guess I see what you're saying. What does Diabetes even mean? It sounds dumb.
SPEAKER_09It's a rare green mineral. Beautiful, but extremely fragile. Freddie! I'm never gonna get this shading done if you keep flexing your arm.
SPEAKER_01Sorry, sorry, my bad. How is it even legal to sell it at auction like that? Shouldn't the artist have some sort of rights or something? Does he I mean, they get any of that money?
SPEAKER_09I guess not, if you're gonna randomly put it on someone's wall without permission and refuse to identify yourself. That's the whole appeal, though, right? The mystique is what drives up the price. Usually the artist erases their work right after documenting it on mosaic. It'll be interesting to see where it goes from here.
SPEAKER_01Shit, if I woke up tomorrow with a fresh dioptase on my garage door, I would have it in the auction house before noon.
SPEAKER_09Well, I guess I should sleep soundly knowing if I ever make it big, you won't be able to sell off your arm.
SPEAKER_01Yeah.
SPEAKER_04The amplifier directly in front of him, turned up far too loud, is patched directly into his essence through the umbilical cord of an instrument cable that he found resting atop the machine. The music that he is creating may sound discordant to the rest of the shop, but the feeling of his fingers pushing that air through the speakers via those shiny steel strings is the absolute apex of his day. While looking down at the fretboard, trying to calculate his finger placements, the boy notices two black and white sneakers walk right up to him and stop. They are curiously covered in paint splatter. The novice pauses his practice and looks up to see a stranger with dark hair and mysterious eyes emitting an aura of cool that catches the boy by delighted surprise. The stranger grabs a guitar off the wall and spends the next 10 minutes showing his new friend two new chords as well as some easier fingerings for the ones he was already trying to play. The awestruck apprentice watches every movement with eager admiration. Upon his detailed study, he notices a small black and white cartoon bird on the maestro's perfectly articulated picking hand. After the impromptu session, the stranger daps the boy up, hangs the guitar back on the wall, and stroll away, heading toward the shop's repair bench. The young budding guitarist is left to master his new skills. He won't be leaving that stool for a few more hours at least.
SPEAKER_06She's already.
SPEAKER_04As he moves through the doorway and brushes past the teen, the stranger feels a nimble finger reach into his pocket and remove the paper. The man pauses for a brief moment, considering whether anything should be said, then decides that it's harmless and continues on his way. After he leaves, the young guitarist hurries back to his stool perch and unfolds the receipt to see the name of his new musical hero. The name on the credit card used is right there in black and white. Christian J. Archimbo. With heart-pumping music in her headphones, she weaves a path between the sidewalk and bike lane, dodging the annoyed pedestrians. Longboarding through the city never failed to clear her head. Unlike most of society, her workday commute was actually a lovely, meditative experience. When she arrives, she picks up her board and opens the door to Cafe Elixir. Coral was unfamiliar with this little bistro. After looking around, she's delighted to see that it is one of those establishments that allows local artists to display their work proudly. The walls are adorned with dozens of amateur paintings from all sizes and styles. Aside each one is a small handwritten note with the work's title, creator, and respective price. Even though most of the art lacked any true head-turning quality, Coral found the vibe quite comforting. It sure beat the lame corporate prints thrown onto the walls of all the franchise coffee shops around town. After spotting her friends in the corner, she moves across the room, props her board against the wall, slings her backpack over the chair, and takes a seat. Gage and Jem had Coral's coffee already ordered and waiting for her at the table. They knew exactly how she took it: a dash of soy and just a pinch of sugar. Gage, one of the city's most talented and in-demand hairstylists, and Jem, a digital animator, had been Coral's best friends and pseudo family for longer than she could remember. These were her people, her rock. A comfort she never took for granted.
SPEAKER_07Ah, the Ink Queen has finally arrived. Pray tell how many fortunate fans got the privilege of wearing one of your masterpieces today.
SPEAKER_09Just two. Finished up that cool ocean wave sleeve and knocked out that neck piece for Ramaya.
SPEAKER_10Oh my gosh, that was today. I love Ramaya.
SPEAKER_09Yep. Pretty cool experience. There were a few paparazzi waiting for her outside the shop. Poor girl.
SPEAKER_10Holy hell, Coral. You're taking celebrity clients now? Do you know what this will do for your career?
SPEAKER_07Probably just double the length of the wait list.
SPEAKER_09I know. It's crazy. I love my job. How did you land that again? Not exactly sure. She wanted a neckt done while the tour was in town. And someone from her team found my mosaic page, I guess. That is so wild. We should celebrate. Yeah, I agree. But maybe later. Coffee will do for now. Cheers. This place is cool. Never been. And the coffee's not bad.
SPEAKER_07Yeah. Almost too trendy though. I think I'm gonna start going back to that Colombian place. You really can't beat the vibe.
SPEAKER_10Oh, I like that one too. They have the best music. And you can pay with Noble Coin there.
SPEAKER_07Oh, here we go with the crypto again.
SPEAKER_10Come on, Gage, stop living in the past.
SPEAKER_04As the conversation drifts into the merits of blockchain technology, Coral's gaze glides up and down the walls, scanning all of the mismatched art cursorily hung throughout the room. When her eyes make it to the wall directly behind the front counter, she rests her focus on a small, framed, acrylic painting. The subject is mostly abstract, with numerous, vivid colors. In the lower half, blues and indigos with whispers of white. In a transition into the upper left corner crept warmer colors of brown, orange, and maize. Upon closer examination, a silhouette appeared near the center. It was a snowflake, oddly hidden in a field of cayenne red. It held a shimmer as if it was melting, a glimpse of radiance in its final moments of existence. The coral is taken aback. The painting is remarkable, sure, but there's something about it that gives her pause, something strikingly familiar. Whatever it is, it makes her feel something the way good art should. She eagerly waits for a chance to get a closer look. An hour or so later, as the three friends finish both their coffee and conversation, hugs are exchanged, and Coral heads to the front counter before leaving.
SPEAKER_09Hi. I'll take a small light roast to go, please. With a stopper if you don't mind. I'm on my board. Sure thing. Hey, can you read the info next to the painting behind you? The little one with the snowflake?
SPEAKER_02Of course. That one has been here a while. Maybe a month or more? Let's see. The title is Brevity, and the price is $200. Looks like the artists didn't leave their name on this one. We usually sell the paintings here and reach out to the artist, but when there's no contact info, that usually implies it's a donation. We raise money for an animal rescue.
SPEAKER_04I see. With a better view, the work is even more magnificent than it appeared from across the room. Colors so perfectly blended, it made Coral jealous. Even the frame is just right. Not overly bombastic or frivolous, a perfectly elegant choice for the hypnotizing composition. Coral couldn't believe there was no interest at $200. That's the way art is, though, she supposed. It speaks to some and not to others.
SPEAKER_08I'll take it.
SPEAKER_04Once outside the cafe, Coral squeezes the small painting into her backpack, secures the stopper in her coffee, and throws down her board to coast toward home. She's already assessing which spot in her apartment will be the best fit for her new prized possession. A few cars pass by here and there as Christian stroll toward a crosswalk with his guitar case in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. He has a slight pep in his step, still buzzing from his band's show and An hour prior at the Topaz Club. Playing shows never got old. It was an undeniably euphoric feeling, sharing an energy with the crowd through a language of distortion, melody, and rhythm. Letting the sonic creations spawned out of thin air, take over the room, and move people together in a tidal wave of song. He loved showcasing the unique tonal resonances that he achieved from hours of tinkering in the loft with his plethora of vintage effects pedals. Luckily, his drummer, Laszlo, had a van large enough to fit the rest of the gear, so that all he needed to carry home was his beloved Quin custom. Alex at the guitar shop had absolutely perfected the neck adjustment, and the new frets were a glorious improvement. Christian takes another drag of his cigarette as he crosses the silent street, his paint speckled shoes nearly skipping with delight. What a night it had been. As he reaches the other side of the road, Christian approaches a row of dark, closed businesses. A pawn shop, a Moroccan restaurant, then a cell phone store. Next on the block was Cafe Elixir, the neighborhood's trendiest coffee spot. The light is dim, but the combination of moonlight and street lamp provide just enough to barely see inside. Christian sets down his guitar, presses his face into the window, and cups his hands around his eyes to see more clearly. Behind the front counter, he can just make out an empty spot on the wall where a certain painting once hung. The window gazer takes a step back, picks up his guitar, pulls a long draw of the dwindling cigarette, and tosses it away. A surreptitious smile creeps across his face, and he continues on his twilight stroll toward home. Her judo class is starting in 30 minutes. Lucky for her, the gym is just a block away. While the Java machine slowly begins to drip, Coral plops into a chair and pulls out her phone. After quickly checking her email, she decides to scroll through her mosaic feed. Other than for work reasons, she wasn't one to post on social media too often, but enjoyed flipping through and looking at other accounts on occasion. It was a great time killer and didn't always disappoint, even if she knew it was slowly sucking the very life out of society. Her thumb flicks the glass screen with a steady rhythm, stopping for a brief second to smirk at a stupid meme. Picture after picture of the children and pets that her forsaken network felt the urgent need to plaster all over the internet. The steam from inside the coffee pot begins to make that unmistakable gargle, signaling that the pie is nearly brewed. Coral's about to get up and pour a much-needed cup of Joe when she notices a familiar avatar at the bottom of her screen. It's the white phantom mask that upwards of 36 million mosaic followers know as Dioptase. Her finger continues to push the feed along until she is staring confusedly at a familiar sight. It's her snowflake painting. Brevity. Only not on a cafe wall, but on an easel in a brightly lit room. She examines it closely. Surely it can't be the same painting. Coral glances over at the couch where she propped up the frame last night, then back at her phone. Back at the couch, back to the phone.
SPEAKER_09Holy shit.
SPEAKER_04Voice acting for this episode provided by Bob Cooner, Molly Lynch, Tara Kempton, Scott White, CJ Stinko, Jules Byrne, Matthew Aberdell, Melissa Jones, and Casey Johnston.