The Art of Barb Kirpluk

I recently had a painting turn up missing at an art market. After everyone searched high and low the logical conclusion was that it had been stolen. Sadder still, a legitimate person had bought and paid for it in the online pre-sale, so not only was I out the money for the painting, the person who wanted it was unable to have it. It troubled me greatly on many levels. I asked CHATGPT to write a story based on my prompts and this is what it came up with.

In a small town nestled between rolling hills and vast farmlands, there lived a man named Finna. He was known for his sharp tongue and bitter heart, a man who could never seem to find peace, no matter how hard he tried. The world around him was full of things he didn’t understand, but the one thing that angered him most was the creatures that had come to live in this land—the house sparrows and coyotes. These were species that didn’t belong, he believed. The birds were not native, and the coyote could be a nuisance, yet they had found a place in the delicate ecosystem of the American countryside. They had taken root, and Finna could not stand it.

He had lived through many hardships in his life, and perhaps it was these very struggles that fueled his bitterness. He had been passed over for promotions, his relationships had crumbled, and life, in his eyes, had never gone the way he had planned. The world had slipped out of his grasp, and in his frustration, he felt powerless. The arrival of non-native species was just another symbol of his feeling of helplessness. How dare the world introduce these creatures, these intruders, without his consent?

Then one fateful day, Finna heard of an art show at the local gallery. The exhibit was a collection of paintings by an artist named Skye. She had spent years traveling the countryside, observing the wildlife, and capturing them in vivid colors on canvas. Her subjects were the very creatures that Finna despised: the house sparrow, with its soft brown feathers, and the coyote, with its wild, untamed spirit. To Skye, these animals were not invaders. They were survivors, resilient and beautiful in their own way, adding their own unique rhythm to the symphony of nature.

Finna’s resentment burned brighter as he learned more about Skye’s work. She had painted coyotes in the moonlight, their silhouettes etched against a backdrop of dusky skies. She had painted sparrows perched on fence posts, small and delicate but full of life. To Skye, these animals were not just animals. They were part of the story of this land, no matter where they had come from. And yet, to Finna, they were invaders, taking up space, pushing out the native species, and disrupting the natural order.

On the night of the art show, Finna arrived with a single thought in his mind: he would destroy the artist’s work. He would take the paintings, erase the memory of these creatures from existence, and in doing so, he thought, he would regain control over his world, over his life. He believed that if he could eliminate the presence of these creatures in art, he could rid himself of the anger and frustration that had taken root in his soul.

Under the cover of darkness, Finna snuck into the gallery. His heart pounded as he moved through the exhibit, eyes fixed on the paintings. One by one, he began to remove them from their frames, folding them into bundles and slipping them away. The house sparrow’s delicate image, the coyote’s wild gaze, all vanished into the shadows. He thought he had won, that by taking these paintings, he had taken control.

But what Finna didn’t understand, what he could not possibly grasp in his rage, was that the joy these creatures brought to the people of the town was immeasurable. Skye’s paintings had connected people to the wildlife they had once ignored. The house sparrows had become symbols of resilience to those who saw them as tiny survivors, not invaders. The coyotes, misunderstood by many, had become a representation of the untamed spirit of the land. They had brought hope to the people, reminding them of the beauty that could exist even in things that seemed out of place.

The next day, when Skye arrived at the gallery, her heart sank as she saw the empty walls. Her paintings—her soul—were gone. She could hardly believe what had happened, and the loss was so heavy that it threatened to crush her. The people who had visited the gallery, who had found solace in her work, were heartbroken as well. Some had come just to see the coyotes that Skye had so lovingly painted, to feel connected to the wildness that they had always admired. Others had found joy in the house sparrows, marveling at their small, vibrant presence.

The loss of the paintings left a hole in the community. It was not just the absence of the art—it was the absence of the story that the paintings had told. The world that Skye had created in those frames was now gone, leaving a silence where there had once been life.

But as Finna walked through the town that afternoon, a strange thing happened. He overheard the conversations of the townspeople. They spoke of the coyotes and sparrows with affection, not disdain. They remembered the paintings with fondness, and more importantly, they remembered how Skye had captured the essence of these creatures—not as invaders, but as survivors, full of heart and purpose.

In his attempt to silence the creatures he despised, Finna had only fueled their presence in the hearts of those around him. The more he tried to erase them, the more they became a symbol of resistance, of life, of the ability to thrive despite adversity. Skye’s paintings had already done their work, had already etched the spirit of these creatures into the hearts of the people. And no matter how many paintings he took, Finna could not undo that connection.

In the end, it was not the paintings that Finna had stolen that mattered most—it was the joy that they had brought, the lives they had touched. In his bitterness, Finna had thought he could play god, deciding who belonged and who didn’t, but he had failed to see the larger truth: that nature, like art, had a way of persisting, of finding its place in the world, no matter how much one tried to push it away.

As the town mourned the loss of Skye’s art, they came together in a new way, united not just by the beauty of the creatures, but by the resilience of the spirit that had painted them. And Finna, in the depths of his regret, found that no amount of control could ever give him the peace he so desperately sought. It was only by embracing the world as it was—flawed, messy, and full of unexpected beauty—that he might finally find his way back to peace. But that was a lesson he would only learn through the pain he had caused.