9 Chapter 9: Self-Copy

Besides stealing she could rely on her copying tendencies as well. The Cee needed to spend some time in order to save time. The copycat decided to hide behind an old self-portrait.

Unfortunately, the one she found in her art studio was completed when she was much younger, didn’t look at all like her current self. It had stayed the same. She had strayed and decayed quite a bit since then.

She could see her stripes were thicker when younger and now her stripes were folding in on themselves giving her blacks and whites a thinner misaligned appearance.

So to improvise, what could go wrong? Cee decided to use a ceiling panel in the corner of her art studio above the tax cabinet as a canvas. To obtain access the 4 drawers were pulled out in a decreasing distance to produce a make shift stairway to UP.

She painted over herself by using a fresh black Sharpie, some correction fluid and tape. Traced herself on herself. Glad no color was needed as she hadn’t had that class yet, either. She knew with her eyes and mouth closed she could disappear into her ebony and ivory.

Now totally wet with product she rolled around on her new found ceiling tile whites. Once completed: ta-“DaDa.”[10]

She dragged her masterpiece up the tax cabinet. One drawer-step at a time. She hoisted herself and d’art to the top. She reached above for the railings and pulled herself UP. Placed the front side of her newest traced creation toward the art room floor.

Once in her new plane of existence she laid on the back side of her self-rendition hidden from view in the dark of the drop ceiling. She became deadened to all she left behind.

Electrically self-inflated by stealing this ceiling space, on top of her marked spot. Cee clearly was not losing her place in time. This was her higher plane of existence.

She realized she had painted herself into a corner, self-framed – for self-copying insulated from the world, a stolen place in space.

Blending into her stripes she swallowed her tongue, lost her smile, closed her eyes into a black slit but open just enough to see the comings and goings in her art studio.

She became another misplaced item. Unnoticed. Disappearing into the deadness. Breathed in tranquil air on string theory.

Submerged herself in a meditative state which changed everything. She became her own ceiling fan. Gone cat.

No pressure to initiate, to become famous, answer another call for artists. She was hanging up while letting go.

Misplaced for three days the concerned started to look for her. “Where did our precious CeeCee go?” Typical.

The owl gathered a search party. Well-wishers came to look for her in her art. The stuff of gallery refusals and no calls from calls for artists: 365 urban sketches, the buggy, heron, eyeris, shakenspeare, autopilot, a.rival, Mr. Hyde, hope, tree huggers, her sketch books, her younger self-portrait, 3 water color panes, a transparency fog scene she couldn’t name, on the rocks, Love Never Dies self- help booklet, her boots; all became coveted by many but mainly, she noted, by other artists.

They began to buy this art stuff while she peeked down from above. Art was now for sale and sail it did.

The result: A completely cleaned out art studio except for the 4 drawer metal tax cabinet and ceiling panels. Fame had naturally followed now that her creations, supplies were now others’ mementos.

The owl came into this new empty space, closed the four drawers of the “stairway”, walked with more pocket money than usual, completed a full wing span and gradually started to move in.

He added fishing books, cat-alogs, and staples. Then came the fiddle, the harmonica, music handouts, pig-nose speaker, an inflatable fishing boat, chairs and a nest. Sometimes the owl would come into her old art studio and often just look for her, too.

He would look into that corner ceiling panel hanging on the metal drop frame, yes, above the 4-drawer file cabinet of her art studio thinking, ‘’ looks like old water damage.” Staring at this corner his forehead would begin to imitate the lines on which he focused.

He never cared much for her artistic expression “too abstract.”

However there was enough of a similar pattern for him at times in the distressing ceiling pane to be reminded of his missing puss. He then would beautifully spread his wings.

This was good enough for Cee cause as she held still and watched him from above through the ceiling panel thought, “He sees my self-portrait and misses me.”

Again her cognitive error of over self-evaluation was not letting her down. She wanted to smile more than ever in these moments of insight.

She thought this space-time stealing was a very cheap way to recycle her art supplies and drawings.

She felt water in her eyes. Her 66 stripes started to smudge. She was losing her whites.

Fifty of them began blending in shades of Dorian Gray[11]. Tired of squinting down all the time, knowing she couldn’t make cents or fame when temporarily deadened and whited out. A wrinkle in time for which she did not plan.

After her cosmic relief, looking for a conversion she wanted to get back to start.

So she swallowed her pride, put back her tongue in cheek, pushed back her copied self -portrait, let go of her self-imposed frame, dropped down, yes, onto the top of her 4-drawer tax cabinet and into her old current with a shift in time. Replaced the ceiling tile. Straightened her body lines the best she could, with blind faith leapt to the floor and went to look for her owl for answers.

The owl was happy to see her back.

He brought her into his new study. The owl showed her how he had decorated his new claimed positive space in her art studio. How her fame money was spent on purchasing others’ artifacts of his interest.

Fish paintings,

Fish heads,

Fish tales,

Fishing graph data,

And the like.

There was no negative space for her anymore. She pretended to be surprised by what he had done to her old art studio.

Her lines where replaced by his seven foot spread. They went fishing for her left overs. Only her ceiling self-portrait aka, “water damage” remained, and of course the 4-drawer tax cabinet.

She finally got her answers, she hadn’t really lived at all. No more need to draw lines in life, time to forget her old lines, enjoy the invisible lines ahead. It no longer mattered which of her nine lives she was living.

Even though she wasn’t all there herself.