I Am The Local Atheist Read Online Free Page A

the walls;
but stepping back and viewing them all as a whole meant that a much
larger and much more damning insight had been painted by the
artist, an insight that many were beginning to take exception
to.
    And it was an
insight that I was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable with. I
shuffled backwards, trying to disappear into a corner again,
hanging my head as low as possible without looking suspiciously
guilty.
    Murmuring
began to dominate the air and some strong opinions were being
banded about. There was an attempt at bringing some order when a
man spoke up over the crowd saying, “Well, these pictures are
certainly a clear indication of how Miss. Schuar was treated by her
previous city. Thank the Lord that she found her way here.”
    There was some
agreement that went a long way to calming the air, until a woman
with an obvious chip on her shoulder said “No! No, no, no! I
remember her saying quite clearly that these paintings are about
her experiences in Invercargill.”
    “ Calm down Mrs. Stewart. I’m sure Miss. Schuar has had good
reason for painting what she has painted.”
    “ Well, then lets get the girl over here explaining it so that
everyone can understand.”
    Callasandra
walked up to them. “Look, I’m really sorry that it offends you but
I have said all that I have wanted to say. My art speaks for
itself.”
    “ Your art speaks for you young lady. Do not think that you can
divorce yourself from it so easily. It is obvious that you have no
desire to respect the town that has given you such a helping hand.
All you can do is fling mud back into its face.”
    “ No, that’s not true.”
    “ Are these paintings about your old town or the one you live in
now?”
    “ This one.”
    “ Then you have done nothing short of stabbing us in the
back.”
    “ It’s not like that…”
    “ Then tell us what it is like!”
    A man from the
side of the room that wasn’t doing any attacking decided to stand
up for Callasandra. “I think the paintings are courageous! They
show an artist stepping up to the plate and having her say.”
    Mrs. Stewart
shot him a piercing stare. “You would you heathen!”
    Another woman
stepped forward. “Hold on a minute, Mrs Stewart. I don’t appreciate
you using the term ‘heathen’ to describe someone just because they
are non-Christian. It is just as reprehensible as these paintings
here, and we don’t need to lower ourselves to those standards.
We’re supposed to be supporting each other, but Miss. Schuar is
obviously trying to be a critic just for the sake of being critical
as though that’s an excuse to paint some second rate pictures
without any real understanding of what actually happened and why.
So in that respect Mrs. Stewart, I concur with you – she is just
flinging mud! Dirty and insincere!”
    Callasandra
was visibly shaken by these words.
    Mr. Brunner
continued his attempts at mediating. “I don’t think that this is
the place and time for such an argument. If any of us have anything
further to say, then we should leave it to private communication so
that the exhibition can continue on as it was meant by the
curators.” He smiled at the party members; they nervously smiled
back, leaning towards a table and picking at the remains of a bunch
of grapes that the students had carelessly left uneaten.
    But Mrs.
Stewart wasn’t put off her rant. “Yes, yes; private communication
Mr. Brunner. That solves everything doesn’t it? No need for group
discussions, no need to defend your works out in the open; just
leave it to private communication where no one but the recipients
learn anything. Meanwhile, other artists go forth destroying all
that is good and pure in the world.”
    I found it
difficult to understand where her concept of all that is ‘good and
pure’ came from. Nothing had been so good or pure since we had left
the Garden of Eden.
    Mr. Brunner
didn’t look too happy with her statement either, but he spoke
nothing of it, instead looking at