A Taste of Art is one of Robert James Warner's exciting Krong the Watcher stories, taken from the Watcher Chronicles by the author, who was privileged to present this story to the world public as a fiction story.
The Watchers are a human race from deep space who found earth and conquered it without spilling one drop of earther blood. They are on earth only to "watch" and study the peoples of earth, which is why the earthers call them "Watchers."
The Watcher are on earth only to "watch" but at times they help earthers.
John Taylor Moore, the main human character (JT for short), is a senior artist, art critic, art dealer, and art studio owner who lives in Huntington Beach, California. He has been waging total war against artist's deadly enemies--art critic con artists--who con the public into believing art critic con artists are the only people who can criticize art. JT insists that the public should have faith and trust in their own eyes!
One day, JT remembers that human taste buds are as unique as fingerprints. He hurries off to see the Watchers and meets Krong, asking Krong if he and the Watchers can help him find some way for earth people to taste art with their taste buds instead of looking at art with their eyes, which the art critic con artists have brainwashed them to believe are no good.
Krong agrees to help and the Watchers build a robot for him that can fly and has many other skills, who they call the TBM (for taste bud machine). It becomes the hero of A Taste of Art, because it can look at a painting and then produce and dispense a food or drink, which tastes exactly like it looks-- so the public can use their taste buds instead of their eyes--which starts an art war between JT and the TBM (Taste Bud Machine, Teebee for short) and the art critic con artists world-wide when JT and Teebee put on art shows, becoming celebrities and making lots of money.
JT's plane is skyjacked and he is robbed; then he and Teebee are kidnapped and taken to Germany for a taste test of 50 Nazi loot paintings stolen in WW2. Afterwards, JT is allowed to use the Watcher teleportation system for safety; JT meets Sing, a lovely senior Watcher woman who becomes his guide and guard, and they fall in love, making A taste of Art a great love story. JT and Sing are kidnapped by the Mafia in New York, Teebee alerts Krong, and then flies off searching for them. Sing makes a break for freedom and is shot down by a Mafia thug, then Teebee and the Watchers arrive, capture the Mafia thugs, and rush Sing to a Watcher hospital where she hovers between life and death. Only the magnificent Watcher medical science can save her and mend JT's breaking heart!
Robert James Warner was born and raised in Long Beach, California. He went to the local schools. He was drafted in to the Navy on March 9, 1944, during the World War II as soon as he finished his last semester in High School. He was discharged from the Navy on June 16, 1946.
Mr. Warner went back to school at Long Beach City College, on the G.I. Bill, taking Mechanical Engineering before he switched to journalism. After about a year and a half at City College, he quit.
Mr. Warner had always been interested in writing, but he had huge handicaps to overcome: he couldn't spell (he still can't); and grammar was then and is now a mystery to him.
Mr. Warner first began to write when he was about twenty.
During the next few years, he wrote some songs, poetry, and short stories, but his output was quite low.
From 1947, after Mr. Warner left City College, to 1950, he had a number of different inconsequential jobs--the longest, at Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach where he worked in the blueprint department for eight months until he quit and loafed awhile.
In 1950, he enlisted in the Active Naval Reserve as a Weekend Warrior, so that he could learn seamanship and get paid doing it. He has had a life long love affair with boats (building his own) and fishing.
About three months later, the Korean War started and Mr. Warner was called back to active duty in the Navy Aircorp for a year. He was discharged in August 1951, serving on three aircraft carriers, operating off of Korea in the China Sea, bombing and strafing the communists!
After Korea, Mr. Warner went back to City College for awhile, then got a job on a freighter as a deckhand. He then made two trips to the Hawaiian Islands, about thirty days round trip, hauling bulk sugar for C&H Sugar in Crocket California on the Sacramento River.
Leaving the ship in Crocket, he went to Santa Rosa, California, where he washed dishes in a few restaurants and got a poem published in the local newspaper--a big day in his life.
Next, he went to Yosemite and washed some more dishes before going home.
Mr. Warner has cleaned chicken dung from under the pens; he owned and operated his own auto wrecking yard; owned his own 2nd Store; was half owner of a Yacht Landing; speculated in Real Estate; and worked at some other odd jobs, going to work for the Long Beach Fire Department in 1953 for the next twenty-six years, retiring in October, 1979.
Mr. Warner got married in 1961, had his son in 1963, and got divorced in 1973.
In 1974, Mr. Warner and his son, Jeff, drove to Alaska during the summer. On his return, Mr. Warner wrote his first novel.
Since 1974, Mr. Warner has written 31 novels, about 125 short stories, 2 Civil War history books, and 2 poetry collections.
(JT, the main human character, is about to take his first taste of a painting. It is a splendid painting of a hamburger and French fries.)
TB (the robot) obediently asked, "What is the number of the painting, please?"
"Number one, TB," JT replied, quivering with excitement and eagerness.
Suddenly, lights began to blink on and off, bells began to ring, whistles began to blow, then a siren began to scream, then, with a tuba-boom-boom, a bugle call, a drum roll and a big bass drum-boom-boom, and a big crash of symbols, a small container slid out of the opening in TB's front, he reached up with his left tentacle arm and hand, picked it up, and, with a graceful gesture of his right tentacle arm and hand, offered it to a stunned, speechless, wide eyed, open mouthed, JT who could only stand there like a stone statue because of his all engulfing astonishment at the completely unexpected lights and bells and whistles and tuba and drums and bugle and symbols that TB had played as he ejected a taste of the hamburger and French fries for JT to sample. TB showed what can only be described as 'a lot of class' by playing his whistle-boom, drum-roll, bugle-call, cymbal-crashing umpah band softly, with a subdued, though fervent wahoo-enthusiasm because he was in as art studio. Even TB's flashing lights were dimmed in respect for the art hung on the walls of the studio. TB was wonderful!
Krong actually laughed out loud, though softly, at JT's stunned reaction to the surprise he had sprung on him, the same surprise Krong's Watcher associates had sprung on him, when they had first demonstrated TB to him.
JT turned a blank, paralyzed, flabbergasted face to Krong, then, the next moment, JT was laughing with a wild, belly laughing shout of laughter that he was helpless to control for a few moments, as he was convulsed with a big belly laughing mirth that brought tears to his eyes and made his stomach hurt. Nothing in all of his life had astonished him so completely or had made him laugh with such a hearty belly laugh of pure amusement. It was simply fantastic!
After a few moments, still chuckling, JT wiped at his tearing eyes with both hands, then he started to laugh helplessly again, making his eyes water again as he rocked back and forth laughing out loud, both hands slapping his thighs as he leaned forward.
Krong continued to laugh softly too, he couldn't help it, it was the best surprise he had seen in a very long time. JT was going to have a lot of fun with TB's lights, bells, and whistles!
Grinning widely and still chuckling, JT wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, then, his belly laugh amusement on simmer, he reached out and took the plastic spoon and the small plastic container of what the painting of the hamburger and French fries tasted like from TB's outstretched robotic hand. TB spoke: "I am glad you liked my bells and whistles, Mr. Moore. It is great fun for me to show my stuff."
JT laughed out loud again, nodding his head in understanding, as he said, "Call me, JT, TB, you're fantastic, you know it? Just fan-tas-tic."
"Thank you, JT, you are very kind. You are a gentleman and a scholar."
TB's remarks made JT look up and laugh softly again. TB's remarks could have been sarcasm but for the sarcasm-free jolly amusement in his deep bass voice. TB obviously had a sense of humor.
Laughing softly, JT said, "Well, I'll be damned, a robot with a sense of humor? How about that!"
"Thank you, JT, I do have a small sense of humor," TB said. "The Watchers thought a robotic sense of humor would be a nice touch. How am I doing?"
"Just great, TB, you're doin' just great."
Krong spoke, a soft insistence in his soft, deep bass voice: "JT, taste the hamburger and French fries, this is a taste test, my friend. You are ignoring the full realization of your taste bud machine dream."
JT laughed again, looking at Krong in mild, guilty surprise as he said, "Oh yeah, sorry Krong, I'm so fascinated with TB that I can't seem to keep my mind on what I'm doin'. OK, here goes," and he dipped the spoon in the food in the small container. The food looked like some kind of mush, like oatmeal, although it was a little bit darker than oatmeal.
JT sniffed at the little dab of food on the tip of the spoon before he tasted it, finding that it smelled delicious, just like a hamburger and French fries smelled like, then he took a little nibble of the food and made chewing motions with his jaws, and pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tasted it, his eyes kinda wide, his eyebrows up, his face a study of that wondering, doubtful look, 'I wonder what this stuff tastes like?' look people get when they are tasting a food that they are uncertain of, then he began to smile, then he laughed softly in delight as he turned to Krong and exclaimed, "Hey, Krong, this stuff is just great, I can't believe it, it tastes kinda like a hamburger and French fries, but not too much, just a hint, I guess, but it tastes damn good just the same. I guess the food shouldn't taste exactly like a hamburger and French fries, because I'm tasting the painting not a real hamburger. Jeeezzz zzzuss, Krong, this stuff is really good tasting, so I guess the painting is a good painting, right?"
"That is correct, JT, you are tasting the painting, not real food. This is a most important distinction, the most important distinction, that one must make when tasting a painting, an important distinction that is the basic reason for the existence of TB, the taste bud machine: A TASTE OF A PAINTING IS NOT A TASTE OF REAL FOOD, IT IS A TASTE OF THE ARTIST'S PAINTING OF A REAL FOOD, TESTING THE ARTIST'S SKILL AS A PAINTER, AS ONE WOULD TEST THE SKILL OF A CHEF BY TASTING THE CHEF'S FOOD."
Nodding his head in emphatic agreement as he continued to taste the hamburger and French fries painting-food, JT said, "That's it, Krong, that's my idea exactly, you've got it exactly. Damn, this stuff tastes purty damn good, you know it? I'd score it as 'very good'.
