Economy

     The light radiated inside to the dusty filled shop. There were paintings hung precisely to display the full radiance of each piece as a simple woman walked by inspecting each sample. Taking her time the woman would get her large Italian nose so close to the paper that it seemed to almost glisten grease onto the painted canvas.

     “Ma’m please if you don’t mind could you possibly not stand oh so close to the paintings. You are going to smudge it.” A voice pressed on from over by the little counter and register tucked into the corner. The register was rusty but capable of use and was hardly noticeable behind the display cases filled with art and jewelry for the average tourist to gaggle over.

     “It’s not the same.” The woman sneered while still keeping full focus and face pressed against the painting. “What exactly is this supposed to even be?”

     “It’s a creative forest landscape inspired by a touch of mythology.”

     “There’s no dammed ocean.”

     “I know that bu-“

     “How are you expecting to sell anything in a sea town that has no ocean in it?”

     “I was try-“

     “You can’t just go against traditional styles and expect to make money. Gloucester is a town for water coloring and boats. Nautical items sell. We live off the fishing industry art and blood and that is what the tourists want. Where are you from?”

     “I came here from Amherst but I don’t see why that would matter.”

     “Gloucester isn’t accustomed to change. We like our traditions and that is what sells. You are either going to have to change your art or you are going to go broke. Go check out the museum or something that might help.” The woman by then had turned away from the painting, now crooked on the wall, and was striding out the door with her hips wobbling back and forth in retaliation to the movement and her age.

     The door slammed shut with the little bell by the corner letting out a gleeful ring. Eventually the ringing of the bell had subsided to let the overall quietness of the little store creep in. Of course not everywhere within the little shopping district of the Neck was quiet as if someone were to take a glance outside you could see the bundling clusters of tourists parading up and down the streets. Yet inside there was just the artist behind the counter. It was a dilemma. The artist let out a small breathe of air as she looked away from the door and towards her parchment with lines of calligraphy as she continued to write name cards for the newest additions to the store. Her hand twitched right before placing the pen back onto the parchment and she looked up yet again. The walls were already almost
full to begin with. Maybe the woman was right? Maybe it would be best to change the store around, but then again why would someone listen to one woman. After all the woman was talking about Gloucester, and BearskinNeck is in Rockport…