Artist Endures Prolonged Fasting Amidst Declining Public Interest

In recent decades, public interest in artists who fast professionally has significantly diminished. There was a time when performing such art brought in good earnings, but now it was no longer possible. The world had changed.

Previously, people from all over the city would be very excited about such fasting artists. With each passing day of the fast, people's curiosity would grow even more. Everyone wanted to see him at least once a day. Some would even buy special tickets for the last few days and sit in front of his small iron cage from morning till night, watching him.

Time was also allocated for spectators at night. At that time, the torchlight made the scene even more impressive. On days with good weather, the cage was placed in an open space outside. It was especially fun for children. For adults, he was often just a popular spectacle.

But children would watch him in amazement, wide-eyed. They would hold each other's hands for a sense of security. In front of them, the artist, dressed in tight black clothing, with an extremely pale face, his bones clearly visible, sat not on a chair but on straw on the floor. Sometimes he would nod politely, barely smile in response to questions, or extend his hand outside the iron bars to let people touch his thin body. Then he would retreat into his own world again. He would stare into the void with half-closed eyes, paying no attention to anything around him, not even the only item inside the cage (the ticking clock). Sometimes he would take a sip of water from a small glass just to wet his lips.

Besides the ordinary spectators, there were also some permanent monitors, chosen by the public. Strangely, these were often butchers. Their job was to monitor the artist day and night, three at a time. They were assigned to see if he was secretly eating anything.

But in reality, this was just a formality, an arrangement made to reassure the public. Those who knew the inside story were well aware that during the fast, the artist would not put even a small piece of food in his mouth under any circumstances, even by force. His professional honor did not allow it.

The artist liked those monitors who sat near the cage and watched attentively. They were not satisfied with the dim light of the hall.

But not all monitors understood this. Some night watchmen were very careless. They would sit in a corner and play cards, as if wanting to give the artist a chance to eat something secretly. They thought he might take out food he had hidden somewhere and eat it.

These monitors were the people the artist found most irritating. They made him unhappy. The fast felt even more unbearable because of them. Sometimes, overcoming his weakness, he would try to sing as much as possible during their duty, to prove their suspicions wrong.

But it didn't have much effect. They would instead wonder, 'Could he be chewing something even while singing!'

The artist liked those monitors who sat near the cage and watched attentively. They were not satisfied with the dim light of the hall. They would shine a flashlight given by the manager onto the artist.

That bright light didn't affect the artist much. He couldn't sleep well anyway. Whether it was light or the noise of the crowd, he could doze off a little at any time.

He enjoyed staying awake all night with such monitors. To keep them awake, he would joke, tell stories of his nomadic life. Just to prove that there was no food inside his cage, and that he was truly fasting in a way that none of them could.

But his happiest moment came in the morning. In the morning, a hearty breakfast was brought for those monitors at his expense. After staying awake all night, they would flock to it like hungry animals.

Some called this an attempt to bribe the monitors. But that was a far-fetched accusation. Because when they were told, 'Stay on watch all night without breakfast,' they would disappear immediately, though they wouldn't give up their suspicions.

He was never satisfied for another reason. Why did his body become so bony? Just because of fasting?

Such doubts were inherent to the profession of fasting. After all, no one could continuously monitor the artist day and night. Therefore, no one could provide direct proof that the fast was truly rigorous and continuous.

The only true witness to that was the artist himself. Therefore, he was also the only one who was fully satisfied with his fast.

But he was never satisfied for another reason. Why did his body become so bony? Just because of fasting? Or by his own dissatisfaction? Because one thing he alone knew – fasting was the easiest thing in the world.

He did not hide this. But no one believed him. Some thought him humble, many thought him attention-seeking or a fraud. They thought he had found some secret way to fast easily, and had the audacity to admit it openly.

He had to endure all this. Over time, he had become accustomed to it. But the inner dissatisfaction never disappeared. He never voluntarily left the cage during any period of fasting. This must be credited to him.

His manager had set a maximum limit of forty days for the fast. After that, continuing the fast was not permitted, even in big cities. There was a reason for this. Experience had shown that with continuous publicity, public interest lasted for about forty days. After that, people's interest would start to wane. Sympathy would also decrease.

If the public truly admired him so much, why did they have so little patience?

On the fortieth day, the decorated cage would be opened. The hall would be filled with spectators. A military band would play. Two doctors would enter the cage, examine his body, and the results would be announced through a loud-hailing device. Then two young women would come, proud of being chosen, to help the artist to a small table. A special meal for patients was arranged on the table.

But at this very moment, the artist would become stubborn. He would offer his bony hands to the young women, but refuse to get up. Why stop the fast at this exact moment? He had endured it for forty days. Why stop now? He was at his best now. He hadn't reached his peak yet. Why stop him from fasting longer and setting an even greater record? He felt that his fasting ability had no limits.

If the public truly admired him so much, why did they have so little patience? If he could fast for a longer time, why couldn't the public watch it? He was tired. Sitting on the straw felt comfortable to him. But now he had to get up and go towards the food table, the mere thought of which made him nauseous. He was hiding that feeling only because the young women were in front of him.

He looked into the eyes of those young women. From the outside, they seemed kind, but in reality, they were cruel. And he shook his head, heavy on his weak neck. But then the same thing happened, as always. The manager came forward. It was impossible to speak due to the loud music of the band, so he said nothing. He raised his hand to the artist, as if pleading to heaven – 'Look at this sad man sitting on the straw, this suffering martyr!' In fact, he was a martyr, but in a different sense.

The manager, acting with extreme caution, grabbed the artist's dry waist so that the audience could see his weak condition even more clearly. Then he handed him over to the trembling young women. But even while handing him over, he secretly shook the artist slightly, causing his legs and body to wobble.

The entire weight of his body (which had actually become as light as a feather) fell on one of the young women.

Now the artist completely surrendered himself to others. His head hung on his chest, as if it had fallen there by chance. His body was contracted inwards. His legs trembled and clung to each other, but his knees dragged on the floor, as if the floor was not really solid and they were still searching for firmer ground.

The entire weight of his body (which had actually become as light as a feather) fell on one of the young women.

That young woman was looking around for help and was already tired, breathing shallowly. This was not the honorable job she had imagined. Initially, she stretched her neck as far as possible to avoid her face touching the artist's body. But that was not possible.

The other young woman did not offer much help either. She was just holding the artist's bony, thin hands in her trembling hand. The audience was enjoying the scene. Finally, the first young woman cried, and an assistant, who was ready, had to take her place.

Then the food was brought. The manager somehow managed to put a little food into the artist's lips even in his semi-conscious state. At the same time, he kept talking amusingly to distract the audience's attention from the artist's actual condition.

Later, the manager announced that the artist had whispered something in his ear, and based on that, a toast was raised to the audience. The band confirmed it with a loud tune. The audience slowly dispersed. No one was dissatisfied with the program, except the artist. As always, only he was dissatisfied.

Thus he lived for many years. In between, he got some days of rest and recovery. The world respected him, and he had fame too. But even then, he was internally restless. What was more unfortunate was that no one took his suffering seriously.

The manager, however, found such situations amusing. He would use them as an opportunity to 'punish' the artist.

After all, what consolation did he need? What more could he want? If any kind person, seeing his suffering, tried to console him by saying, 'Perhaps this sadness has come from fasting too much,' especially on long fasting days, the artist would suddenly become angry. He would shake the iron bars of the cage like a wild animal, startling everyone.

The manager, however, found such situations amusing. He would use them as an opportunity to 'punish' the artist.

He would publicly apologize for the artist's behavior. And say, 'Fasting for a long time makes people irritable. People who eat heartily cannot understand such a situation.' Then he would easily move on to another topic. It was the artist's 'unbelievable arrogance' that he could fast for much longer than he was doing now. The manager would praise the artist's great ambition, strong willpower, and self-sacrifice.

But immediately, he would come up with another trick. He would take out some pictures put up for sale. In those pictures, the artist was seen lying on a bed, almost dying of exhaustion on the fortieth day.

The artist always found it unbearable to have the truth presented in such a distorted way. The reality was that he was in such a state because the fast was stopped prematurely. But the manager would twist it, saying, 'It was because of this condition that the fast had to be stopped.'

It was impossible to fight against such a misunderstanding of the whole world.

Many times, the artist would honestly hold the bars of the cage and listen to the manager. But as soon as the pictures were shown, his hands would let go, he would cry out and fall back onto the straw, and the satisfied audience would come closer to look at him again.

A few years later, people who had witnessed such scenes would not understand themselves. Because by then, public taste had changed.

This change seemed to have happened overnight. There could have been deep reasons behind it, but who would think about it?

One day, suddenly, people abandoned that popular fasting artist. The crowd seeking entertainment started moving past him towards new attractions. For the last time, the manager took him on a tour across Europe. He searched to see if any old interest remained. But it was all in vain. Wherever they went, people showed disgust towards professional fasting.

Certainly, this change had not come suddenly. Some signs that appeared earlier amidst success and glamour had been ignored. But it was too late now. Perhaps fasting would become popular again in the future. But what meaning did it have for people living in the present? What would the artist do now? Once thousands of people had admired him. Now he couldn't stoop to a small roadside spectacle in village fairs. Let alone adopt another profession. He was too old for it, and too dedicated to fasting.

Finally, he parted ways with the manager. That relationship was a partnership on an extraordinary journey. After that, he went to work in a big circus. To preserve his faith, he didn't even read the contract terms. A big circus always needed people, animals, and equipment. So, there was some work for the fasting artist too, if he didn't demand too much.

Hearing this, other artists would smile. Because he had forgotten one thing – the public's mindset had changed. But in reality, he had fully understood the situation.

Here, not only the artist, but his famous name would also be useful. His art had not weakened with age. Therefore, no one could say, 'This is an artist whose time has passed.' Rather, the artist himself claimed that he could still fast like before. And if he were allowed to fast as long as he wished, he would set a record the world had never seen.

Hearing this, other artists would smile. Because he had forgotten one thing – the public's mindset had changed. But in reality, he had fully understood the situation. Therefore, he naturally accepted that his cage would not be placed in the center as the main attraction. It was placed near the animal cages, on the outside, in an easily accessible spot.

Colorful large posters surrounded the cage and announced what could be seen inside. When spectators came in crowds to see the animals, they could not avoid passing by the artist's cage. They would even stop for a moment. Perhaps they would stand for a while longer, but people pushing from behind would force them to move on, saying, 'It's getting late to see the animals.'

This is why the artist, who considered these moments the main achievement of his life, now began to fear those very moments. Initially, he would wait for the interval. He felt excited when the crowd approached him. But gradually, he began to realize that these people were not actually coming to see him. They were going to see the animals.

Seeing them from afar was the best experience. Because as soon as they reached the cage, a fight would break out between two groups. One group insisted on standing, not out of genuine interest, but just to show their stubbornness. The other group wanted to go directly to the animals. Those who came later would arrive after the first crowd left. If they wanted, they could stand for as long as they wished, but they would take long strides and run towards the animals, almost without looking.

It was rare for a father to stop in front of the artist with his children. He would point with his finger and explain at length, 'What is this?' He would tell stories of old days, when he had seen even more exciting fasting performances.

Although the children did not fully understand, their bright eyes signaled that a new and better time could come. The artist often thought – if only his cage had been placed a little farther from the animal cages, perhaps the situation would have been better.

The smell of the animals, the restlessness at night, the sight of raw meat being carried for carnivores, the roar during feeding – all these continuously saddened him. But he did not dare to complain to the management. After all, the crowd that came to see him came because of those animals. Sometimes, someone in the crowd would show interest in him.

And if he complained too much, wouldn't the management remove him to a farther, unseen place? Because in reality, he had now become just an obstacle in the path to the animals.

Certainly, he had become just a small obstacle, and that obstacle was gradually diminishing. It was becoming normal for people that even at such a time, someone should be interested in a fasting artist. With this habit, the final verdict against him was also made.

He fasted as much as he could, and he did. But now no one could save him. People would walk past him without looking. Try to explain the art of fasting to someone! You can never explain it to someone who has no feelings for it.

The attractive posters plastered on the cage gradually became dirty and illegible. Finally, they were torn down. The small board (on which the number of fasting days was written), which was carefully changed every day at first, had been stuck at the same number for a long time. After a few weeks, the staff found even this small task meaningless.

'Are you still fasting?' the inspector asked, 'When do you plan to stop?'

Thus, the artist continued to fast. As if he had dreamed, no one would stop him now. And this was not difficult for him either, just as he always said. But now no one counted the days. Even the artist himself did not know how many records he had broken. This thought weighed on his mind. Sometimes a leisurely traveler would stop there. He would look at the old board, laugh, and say, 'This is a fraud.'

But in reality, it was the most foolish lie created by indifference and innate malice. Because the one who was defrauding was not the artist. He was honestly doing his job. The world itself was depriving him of the respect he deserved. Many days passed like this. Finally, that situation also came to an end.

One day, an inspector's gaze fell on the cage. He asked the staff, 'Why is this beautiful cage left empty with such dirty straw?' No one knew. Finally, one of them saw the old board and remembered the fasting artist.

They started poking the straw with a stick. Inside it, they found the artist.

'Are you still fasting?' the inspector asked, 'When do you plan to stop?'

'Please forgive me,' the artist whispered softly.

Only the inspector understood him, because he had his ear against the bars.

'Of course, we forgive you,' said the inspector. Then he tapped his finger on his forehead and signaled to the staff that the artist was not mentally sound.

'I wish you would appreciate my fasting,' the artist said.

'We will,' the inspector said politely.

'But you shouldn't appreciate it,' the artist said.

But in his fading eyes, a firm belief still remained (though without pride now) that he was still fasting.

'Because I have to fast,' the artist said, 'I cannot escape it.'

'You are a strange man,' the inspector said, 'Why can't you escape it?'

The artist raised his head slightly. He pursed his lips, as if trying to kiss, and brought his mouth close to the inspector's ear, so that not a single word would be missed: 'Because I never found food that I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I would not have put on any show. I would have eaten heartily like you or any other person.'

These were his last words.

But in his fading eyes, a firm belief still remained (though without pride now) that he was still fasting. 'Well, clean all this up now,' said the inspector.

Then they buried the artist along with the straw. A young leopard was brought into the same cage. Even to the harshest person, the sight of this wild animal leaping inside the sad cage now seemed refreshing. The leopard had no problems. The staff immediately brought the food it liked. It didn't even seem to have lost its freedom.

Its powerful body, filled with all the necessary things... as if it carried freedom within its own body. That freedom seemed hidden somewhere in its jaws. The joy of life flowed so intensely from its throat that it was difficult for the audience to bear the sight. But they would compose themselves, crowd around the cage, and not want to leave.

(Image: Painting by Egon Schiele)