Modern Art

We never agree on anything. It’s not for lack of trying. He just can’t help himself. He has this primordial urge to argue. Well, maybe not primordial. Maybe the arguing is the result of the evolutionary process. Maybe now we argue instead of going at it tooth and claw. And maybe that’s even progress.

Take today. He suggested a cultural outing. I came up with some museums I thought he’d like. Oh no. An art gallery was what he was thinking of, despite us never having been to one before. The National Gallery? Maybe even the National Portrait Gallery? No again. We’re going to one of those tiny, whitewashed spaces that cost an arm to get in and a leg to eat in the cafe. Not that we ever would eat in the cafe.

We wander past paintings and sculptures which I’m sure have some deep significance I don’t get, until finally we find ourselves standing in front of this one.

I don’t know, it wouldn’t jump out at a lot of people I guess, but somehow we’re both here, staring.

It’s depressing, I say, the way all those little people are falling down into a dark pit.

Depressing? Not at all. They’re not falling. As he tells me this I see it.

They’re flying.

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Writer of mainly spec-fic, I also play roleplaying games, particularly enjoying the shared storytelling.

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