Turner's Gallery of Fine Art - Making The Scene (Open to Anyone)

Posted Sept. 28, 2022, 1:31 p.m. by Captain Eela Dasca (Lt. Governor) (Lindsay B)

Posted by Major General Charles Tenkiller (Vice-Commander, Colonial Customs and Defense Agency) in Turner’s Gallery of Fine Art - Making The Scene (Open to Anyone)

Posted by Lieutenant Sharah Fayth (Chief Star Fleet Medical Officer) in Turner’s Gallery of Fine Art - Making The Scene (Open to Anyone)

Posted by Major General Charles Tenkiller (Vice-Commander, Colonial Customs and Defense Agency) in Turner’s Gallery of Fine Art - Making The Scene (Open to Anyone)


Ah, there it was. Sharah smiled but shook her head. “I saw several pieces that I liked, one I wouldn’t mind having. Like you though, I don’t have the money to purchase art. At least not in an auction like setting. A straight purchase maybe. However I enjoyed the chance to see it and enjoy it, even if only briefly. And you? Was the beer quality enough to make up for having to stare at art all night? Or did you find something that made event worth it?” She grinned, she didn’t really believe he was as bored or put upon to be there.

Fayth, SFCMO

Tenkiller smiled and said “The beer was cold and wet. Thats about as much as I want out if it. As for the art, it was okay. Not my thing, but thats okay. To each their own.” The car turned and soon they were on the street where Dr. Fayth lived. As the car pulled up to her building, Tenkiller said “It was a pleasure hanging out with you, Doc. We should do it again sometime.”


Fayth smiled, “We should. Preferably not because someone is ill or hurt.” She reached for the handle and opened the door. “Thank you for the company and the escort, Tenkiller. Have a good night.” She slipped from the vehicle and shut the door behind her. The fleet security at the door walked down to meet her and they started talking. Given the gestures the other woman was making she had a medical question. After a few moments the doctor disappeared inside the building.


The next day, two packages arrived. One at the home of the new Lieutenant Governor; and one at the home of Star Fleet’s Chief Medical Officer. Each was a painting… the painting… each woman had reacted to. With each was a note.

To the CMO, the note read “On behalf of the artist, I thank you for your patronage of the Turner Gallery.” It was signed ‘Franklin Turner’.

To the Lieutenant Governor, the printed note read “I appreciated your note and the passion for which you viewed this piece. Consider it a ‘welcome present’ for your new tenure on Oed V. Welcome to the colony. Best of luck.” Under the printed words was a handwritten section. “Thank you very much for coming. I hope to see you in the gallery again very soon. Franklin Turner.”

Unknown Artist

In so many ways, Eela’s arrival on Oed had created a wait-and-see situation. Wait and see if she screwed it up. Wait and see if she would be accepted. Wait and see if she herself enjoyed the work the way she had hoped she would.

As she read the note, her fingers tightened on the edges, suddenly overcome with emotion that she could let loose here in the safety and privacy of her apartment. Setting the note to the side, she carefully unwrapped the painting and carried it to the sofa, setting it on the cushion so she could look at it. In daylight the colours were even more vivid, the geometric shapes of the fractal patterns more clearly defined by thin edges in black. Eela closed her eyes and, in a rare moment, let her mind drift back to that one memory she kept stuffed way down deep, only to be dredged up once a year. Yep, they were close. It hadn’t just been an association. True, the colours were different- her memory more light-washed- but they were similar enough for her to know that this painting had indeed been meant for her.

Apparently the artist agreed. A gift. She had to be exceedingly careful about those, lest someone accuse her of accepting bribes already, but the artist was anonymous, and while it did momentarily make her feel like she had just been granted a favour from an unknown source, a deeper part of her focused on the words in the note. A welcome gift. Someone was welcoming her. Not for what she would do for them, or any expectations they might have of her. Yes, people had welcomed her to the colony, but those were words. Expected, polite. This was a generous action that spoke more strongly than words. “I feel welcomed,” she murmured, eyes shinign with tears.

Now to decide where it would hang.

~Eela Dasca, Lt. Gov.

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