…As shifting forms become clarified through studious and
critical practice, the viewer is left with a summary of the inaccuracies of
existence.
Bullshit.
The high white walls of a defunct factory make the small,
black-and-white description shrink into an idiotic footnote to a piece of art
that, in reality, constitutes a mess of swirling colors that does not in fact
become clarified through studious and critical practice. She skims some more text on the ephemeral
nature of the human condition being represented in the conflict between red and
blue. Dominant and passive forever in
conflict. Jealousy being the sublimation
of sexual desire (Although that one seemed legit, she had heard about it in
Psych 101. Or maybe an English
class. Somewhere reputable anyway).
“What do you think?”
She turned around. A
thoroughly nondescript man stood. Was
there something in the curl of his lip?
She couldn’t remember now. For
now, let’s say he stood. Simply that.
She doesn’t look at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. You think something. Everybody does.”
He moved a few steps to her side. He looks up at her. She’s not that tall.
“I think the description’s interesting.”
“Don’t look at the description. Everybody does.”
“Where do I look?”
“At the art.”
She looks. It’s red
and blue. And probably bullshit.
“It combines emerging sexuality and UFO sightings.”
He laughs in response.
“That’s where you’re going?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“It’s about Jesus.”
She looks again for the cruciform. All she sees is a beam of light and a
confusion of squiggles.
“It’s not about Jesus.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“You don’t know. No
body does.”
Who is this guy? “Who are you?”
“Come to lunch with me.
The café has good sandwiches.
We’ll get coffee.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Get to know me.”
“Does this ever work for you?”
“Rarely.”
“Why try it then?”
“Because I got you to look at the art. And you seem nice.
And life is short.”
She says nothing.
“And I’m an idiot.” He finishes.
She does not go to lunch with him. This is probably smart. There was definitely something in his
eye. At least there was in the
newspaper the next morning. He slashed a
cross in bright green into “Subliminal, Extraterrestrial, Chrystalization”
