UPGRADING THE HOGAN
The trailer was history after the first kiss. Rachael invited Charles to more comfortable surroundings: her bed. Their first night together was the beginning of spring break and a marathon lovemaking session kicked off the festivities. The two lovers seemed to know exactly how to please the other. A two-week courtship prior to becoming a couple had helped the bonds of their union. They had already developed their common threads of art, small talk, and of course, Willard.
Originally the two were to start their vacation early on Saturday to visit the different sites of the largest Indian reservation in America. Their unplanned love affair slowed up the process. Sunday or Monday would be just as good as a new landscape was being familiarized on the rez.
Waking up early, Charles decided he would get the only warm shower of the morning while the worn-out water heater still had heat left. Stepping out of the shower, Charles noticed an unusual item of decor that stopped him dead in his tracks. The most remarkable art find of his entire life was staring him in the face, in a bathroom no less. Sitting in a cheap, innocuous soap dish next to the sink as if it were some potpourri, was a fist-sized twine ball with seven smaller balls inside. It appeared to be an original Craig Lendskip sculpture. He had never seen one in person, just in auction catalogs and online. He was familiar with the price structure, and they were terribly valuable.
The sink art, if truly Lendskip’s work, would be worth a fortune; at least 20 times the house’s value. As the water dripped off his stunned face and standing completely in the nude, he gently picked up the sculpture, carefully examining the workmanship. Each little ball was exquisitely fashioned out of the finest twine. It looked authentic but how in the world could a rare piece of artwork by one of the best sculptors of the 20th century end up in the middle of the Navajo reservation in a prefab hogan?
Carefully placing the piece back in the little black Walmart dish, Bloom tried to figure out what to make of this remarkable find. Nothing made sense other than that it was a reproduction. How else could it be explained? He would ask Rachael at breakfast. Charles wondered if he was losing his edge as a dealer when he started imagining such a find. He must be in love.
The breakfast meal was fresh bacon, eggs sunny-side up, and hot cowboy coffee. Cowboy coffee is the fast and cheap way to make a good strong cup of coffee. You take a cup of fresh grounds, boil them for five minutes, and then use a piece of paper towel to filter the grounds. Easy to reuse the next day, too. Rachael used an old-fashioned wood-burning stove, the same one from her childhood. The smell of fresh burning piñon/juniper mix and sizzling bacon made for a tantalizing odor. The aroma was intoxicating with the added fragrance of Rachael’s slightly salty still un-bathed skin. The complex smell aroused Charles’s most primitive urges deep in the recesses of his brain, hunger and sex combined.
“I see you have stolen another great breakfast from Denny’s American Meals specials,” he commented.
“Well my love, it’s call Danny’s here on the rez and we use goose eggs instead of chicken, so it’s not stealing. So are you ready to see the real world, land of high mesas and golden vistas, still untouched by the hands of the bilagaanas?”
Charles was amazed Rachael had called him “love.” He wondered if things had changed that quickly in their relationship or if it was just a Navajo way of saying good friend. “Yes Rachael, I have a couple of free days. In fact the first day I really need to be home is Memorial Day Weekend. That’s about when the leaves bud out and the tourists come back. So sure, let’s see a mesa or two, but be careful I might ruin it, being a bilagaana and all.” The next question was hard to broach, as it was more dealer-like then lover. Bloom’s heart rate started to race and he could feel his face turning red. “I have a question that you might find a bit odd, but it’s about your bathroom art.”
“I know, no good art and the towels are probably not clean enough. Or is it that you miss the outdoor shower behind your old trailer?”
“Yes, that bag shower behind the trailer was a real treat in winter. No, it’s about the small twine ball that’s in the dish next to the sink. Do you know anything about where that piece came from?”
“I know it really shouldn’t be in there. Preston loves the little balls and probably left it in the bathroom when he was looking at it. I have found it there before. I got it from Willard. He asked me to hold onto it for him. He gave it to me the week before he died 15 years ago. He said a close friend had made it for him and he would get it when he got back home. My brother also told me after visiting our grandfather that he wanted to come back to the rez and start living his life differently. I guess the little ball was the first part of his life he wanted to leave here, something to return to. It’s tragic that he never knew he also had a son waiting.” As she spoke of her dead brother, Rachael’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve always had my suspicions that the little ball sculpture may have been made by a very important artist,” Rachael continued. “It is so well made. One of my brother’s friends from art school, I always assumed. I get the feeling from your question that my hunch is correct?”
Bloom was shocked. His dealer radar was alerted. “I believe the sculpture was done by Craig Lendskip, the original twine artist.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he dead? He was a well known artist?” Rachael was only beginning to comprehend her bathroom art’s pedigree.
“Yes that’s right, some kind of weird poisoning related to his twine, if I remember my art history. He is very well known in the art world. So here’s the thing, Rachael. If it’s really a Lendskip and my eye is telling me it is, then the Yellowhorse clan just got a lot wealthier.”
“Shit, really? How can that be? It’s not very big, and it’s just twine. It’s not like one of my grandmother’s rugs that took months to make. It’s cool, but it’s still just little twine balls.”
“I know, but that’s the contemporary art world. Too bad we don’t have a decent Internet connection. I could look up prices. How about I call my buddy back in Santa Fe and let him do the work? What do you say we find out what your potpourri look-alike really is before we freak out?”
Bloom gave Brad Shriver a call. Brad was working, as always, his 20th Saturday in a row.
“Mr. Shriver,” Bloom launched in. “Got a small favor. I’m trying to do research on a small sculpture I think could be a Craig Lendskip.”
“A Lendskip? You’re fucking with, me aren’t you? You found a Lendskip out in the middle of the rez, because that’s where all the Lendskip collectors live….”
“Did I mention that this call is on speaker? Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Rachael Yellowhorse.”
“Hi Rachael, be careful with Bloom, he’s one of those nice guys. He’s easy to fall for, not your typical asshole art dealer. So what’s this about a Lendskip? April 1st is not till tomorrow, you know?”
Bloom explained, “No this is no joke, Brad. I think it may be a Lendskip. It’s a round twine sculpture, six to seven inches in diameter, and exquisitely made. It was a present from an artist to Willard 15 years ago, so we think it’s possibly his work. Could you look up Lendskip on Ask Art and see what the auction records show, and if he ever signed his pieces and if so how.”
“Sure thing, let’s see what the old database has in store for you. OK, getting there, hold on. Looks like Lendskip signed each piece with a very small `C.L.ʹ If it’s a multiple ball piece, he also signs one of the balls `F.J.ʹ Apparently the F.J. stands for Francis Johnson, who inspired him. From the poor reproductions they show here, it must be hard to see the inscriptions. Looks like they blend in. The last five multi-ball piece sold for $450K at Sotheby’s a year ago May, during their contemporary sale.”
Bloom and Rachael exchanged meaningful glances. “Brad, is there any history about where Lendskip showed 15 years ago?” Bloom asked.
“Let’s see. He died unexpectedly at age 30 from cyanide poisoning. Looks like he would lick the yarn and apparently some of the twine he used was contaminated and it killed him. Not much work was ever made. His last gallery was The Cutting Edge. Hey, isn’t that the same gallery whose dick dealer screwed you over? I didn’t know he handled him.”
“Yeah, that makes two of us,” said Bloom. “Shit, I can’t believe it. That’s where Willard must have met him and gotten the piece. When did Lendskip die?”
“Looks as though it was 15 years ago. August 1996.”
There was a pregnant pause while Rachael and Charles took in the information. Her bathroom art was worth hundreds of thousands and Lendskip had died just a few months before her brother, and both were represented by The Cutting Edge. Could this be a coincidence? Charles got a very unsettled feeling. “Uh, thanks Brad. That’s what we needed to know. Any luck with my pieces?”
“Nope, dead around here. I would stay put as long as possible. I didn’t have a single client yesterday. I’m at the desperate phase. Got a kid handing out fliers to the few tourists along the Governor’s Plaza. It’s just a matter of time before one of the portal Indians finds me and kicks the shit out of me for trying to poach their clients, but that’s the kind of environment we’ve got around here right now. Also we just went into a stage-four drought, so if you have any sculptures that use water you can forget selling them this season, and any plants you liked won’t be around by fall, no water for you!” Brad Shriver used his best Soup Nazi impersonation from “Seinfeld.”
“Thanks, Mr. Happy,” Bloom sighed. “I’ll call you back in a few weeks. Let’s lower both of my paintings by 20%, see if we can get some interest. I’d be tickled just to get my cost out of the Scholder. It’s a great painting but I would rather have the cash right now.”
“Okey dokey. I’ll see if I can drum up some business at a new, kinder price. Hope to meet you, Rachael, come visit someday. By the way, I’ve got to ask, if you ever want to sell the Lendskip, keep me in mind. Maybe your buddy Bloom will tell you what a good salesperson I am. I have the clients for the sculpture, top money.”
“Thanks Mr. Shriver. I can tell you’re good at your trade, but I’m not in the market to sell right now,” Rachel responded. “I’ll let you know if I run out of firewood.”
“Fair enough, Rachael. Talk soon, buddy,” Brad concluded.
A close observation of the twine sculpture revealed a small C.L. and F.J. on two of the balls. It was for real and it had two more spheres than the one that sold for $450K a year ago. And it came with a great provenance: the estate of Willard Yellowhorse. Rachael’s piece must be worth at least half a million dollars. That kind of money goes a long, long way on the rez, like a lifetime. But Charles couldn’t quash the feeling of icy dread that also came with the discovery. This sculpture only solidified his original belief that Willard’s death was not a suicide. Willard’s passing was just too close to the death of Lendskip to be a coincidence. Charles had always suspected Willard Yellowhorse had been killed, and now he was even more convinced.