The Versatile Master Artist

It seemed as if a balloon bomb filled with paint exploded in the center of the room, spraying paint in all directions.

Every space within sight was covered in vibrant colors.

The white mat on the floor was full of colorful footprints, and the walls were plastered with handprints of varying sizes.

Some appeared to be from human limbs, others from non-human limbs.

Some of the hand and footprints had clear patterns, some were incomplete, some were so tiny like chicks treading through snow, and some were as enormous as the footprints of a Yeren in Shennongjia.

The entire room presented a visually striking impression, as if a white chaotic universe was being nurtured within.

It was mesmerizing.

Even the ceiling was splattered with paint, seemingly flicked on with a brush, resembling a sky full of stars being born.

In comparison to the extravagant artistic touch, the starry ceilings of Rolls-Royce and Bentley looked absolutely weak.

”Outstanding artistic creativity, grand and passionate, combining the grandiosity of a Genesis-style mural with the vivacity of a cartoon wall painting.”

”A masterpiece! Undoubtedly a masterpiece.”

The assistant looked at the wall before them and praised sincerely.

He now finally understood why Lady Anya did not request canvases and easels but instead asked the assistant to obtain a massive amount of paint.

And insisted on using non-toxic children’s paint and pure poppy oil diluent.

Lady Anya was not confined to any bounded canvas.

It turned out that in the artist’s initial conception, the entire room would become a vast canvas for her to paint.

Unbound, spontaneous.

The assistant’s admiration was not mere flattery.

Great artists’ assistants usually have a knack for sweet-talking, mastering seventy-two ways to praise, effortlessly producing flattery with every breath.

However, not everyone qualifies to hear their flattery.

The fawning of an art assistant is often aimed at employers, fellow great painters, super gallery owners, Middle East Princes, or wealthy oil tycoons.

If Jean Arnou is the ”Emperor of Illustration,” the agent is his Empress, and then his assistant, in this profession, is the Prime Minister of the entire illustration kingdom.

Of course,

sometimes the agent is compared to the Prime Minister, and the assistant to a eunuch.

Yet even if he is a eunuch, he would be the Chief Eunuch of the Imperial Secretariat, the leader among eunuchs, like the celebrated figures of the Ten Eunuchs or Wei Zhongxian, who are also praised and admired at art market networking events.

They are vines attached to the giant tree of the master, entirely indifferent to the thoughts of those ordinary small flowers and grasses.

Lady Anya is the founder of a typical city gallery, and her level of respect and social status in the art circle is actually only comparable to Jean Arnou’s assistant.

This is still because the illustration master’s ability to generate wealth is relatively poor; in terms of wealth creation capability, Jean Arnou might not be better than Uncle Sakai.

Fulfilling Lady Anya’s requests is the assistant’s duty, but he isn’t obliged to offer flattering words on the side.

He truly felt like applauding Lady Anya’s creativity.

This is a genuinely elite artist who has come out from the modern art market through real struggles.

This imagination that transcends dimensions, this creativity that breaks barriers, truly has a brilliance that ordinary illustrators cannot match, let alone the internet celebrity artists who happen upon fame by luck.

The only regret is.

After the artist leaves, this room might need to be renovated... to hell with that.

If an ordinary guest scribbles on the walls of a guest room, it is called vandalism, and they will be asked to pay for damages.

If an artist splatters paint on the walls, it’s called value-adding renovation.

These vibrant patterns are worth far more than any solid wood furniture, hundred-inch TV, or gilded toilet.

Renovation has a price; art is priceless.

In 1966, New Figuration movement founder Ligia Clark casually painted graffiti murals on the wall of a small inn in Brazil.

Sixty years later, that wall is worth more than the entire dingy inn.

This remains a legendary story that every bed-and-breakfast owner in Rio de Janeiro prays for, hoping for such fortune to befall them.

As long as there’s a good accompanying story.

What Anya painted on the wall is not a mural but a check worth at least one hundred thousand dollars.

Jean Arnou certainly doesn’t lack this money.

But compared to the pretentious Detective Cat, and Professor Boggs, who explicitly stated before coming that he didn’t want this work to circulate in the market.

This Lady Anya, this approach to forming good ties is quite spot on.

The other party came eagerly, then painstakingly created such a large work. This is truly how, in the assistant’s ideal, an ordinary artist should behave when invited by the great Jean Arnou.

”What is the name of your work?”

The assistant changed into a pair of transparent plastic shoe covers and cautiously walked over to where Lady Anya was working in the room.

”Love of Pets, and by the way, you’ve stepped on a deer’s footprint.”

Anya replied without lifting her head, painting away casually.

Beside her were several small buckets of various paints mixed with poppy oil, a painting knife in her left hand, and a large sky-blue fabric glove on her right hand.

She had just outlined the shape of a macaw with the painting knife on the mural and was now using her right hand to apply paint, using her forefinger to gradually drag circular feather textures onto the parrot’s neck.