Art Explained By A Writer: Don' Tell! Bar McSorley (1912)

wakeupkitty (75)in Venezolanos Steem • 28 days ago

_{#artonsteemit}

Please, don't tell, thought the bartender, his head nearly exploding from all the stories he was being told. There was nothing really new. All the gentlemen who had drunk too much were no different from the drunken worker on a Friday night or the artist in his everyday madness. As a teenager, he had not cared. He rarely heard a word of what was said, but as the years passed, he had started to listen attentively and had become the bar's wailing wall. Even the priest came to complain during the quiet hours meant for hearing confessions.

Gregor had not only risen from errand boy to bartender, but had also taken over Bar McSorley. Was anyone aware of the fact that he existed and also had his problems? After all these years, he was still single, as if he did not exist in reality.
Was he invisible, dead, and still standing in the afterlife, tapping beer and listening to drunken talk?

John French Sloan went overboard tonight and beckoned the bartender closer.
It's not that you're not worth the look Greg, but...
Don't tell.. thought Greg, here he goes again...

You shouldn't be so picky and do what I did and many others with me. You know, a woman is a woman, cooks, is always ready and who knows you best with all your craziness?
Don't tell, thought the bartender who would have liked to throw John out of the pub because he spouted the most nonsense of all the guests.
John studied the face of the man in front of him. Later he would incorporate it into a painting. The man didn't look too happy.

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_{Bar McSorley (1912) by John French Sloan}

Okay, I'll tell you what I did, I married my sister. That's why we have the same name. The important thing is that you are together with someone who understands you, knows you and supports you. You probably have one that no one knows about... but... he hesitated for a moment and beckoned the bartender closer as he whispered Watch out for Sol, she knows everything just look at what she wrote about who I'm married to.

Before he could answer, the artist was gone and so was the headache that had been bothering him.
I'll look her up tomorrow and ask her, he thought cheerfully, no one cooks as well as she does and could make him laugh so much.
For the first time in years, his laughter roared through the bar and he shouted: Dear people, I have an announcement, tomorrow...

Don't tell, everyone shouted in unison as they held up their glasses.

Cheers, mate!