Geometry, Gallery, Longing.
An aisle, the strange kind of landscape found only in tamed places. Sort of like cages, but with a facade of culture. Along the walls, half-built and made purely to allow the hanging of art, gaps form where the bright white pools of light ebb into a dark tide that flows along the floor guiding the path. Step not into the light, lest ye be judged.
The symbols of the various paintings stood out amongst the dimly vivid colours, the forms of various geometries that no apostate could understand. It all seemed like such a mess until you stepped too close, but then the light would be violated and the silent crowds would murmur. Lazily they progressed down the aisles, turning the bend and leaving the lone plebeian behind to admire a work that caught their eye. In the air he traced over shapes with a finger and made rough mental notes to himself. The next painting he gazed upon, the sacred cow, had a certain sloppiness to it that seemed to provide charm. It gave him a headache to follow the contours, the blending together of figures into an eclectic assault on his eyes.
His companion returned to him, and watched him work, slowly trying to trace out the drawing in his mind-scape, to imitate what they saw. The dim halls were filling up again, the clergy led about their congregations and he was roused from his reverie by a sudden impolite jostle. Their apology meant nothing, he had to start over again once they had all left – standing awkwardly as they all went about.
His companion sat on the floor as the aisle once again cleared. Her interest in this matter had less academia behind it. He studied and she examined, but neither had a similar conclusion. The flow was most important, but the mechanics made them flow.
He almost moved, his phone buzzed and stirred him, then he went back to his task. Then he moved on.
She remained sitting and looking at the painting, the sacred cow, begging of it questions. Why does a sacred cow not moo? Does the colour mean it is happy or sad? Is it meant to make me feel that way?
The shapes on the canvas had deeper meaning, she was sure of it. Everyone else just seemed to know it, and she longed to know it too. She cocked her head, wondering idly if the scene would change with a different perspective. It was a strange thing, because it didn’t. The new crowd didn’t stir her or make her stand, in fact she closed her eyes and pictured the sacred cow as it looked while they rudely stepped around her careful not to disturb her.
What did that part of the image mean? What part of the image meant the least? It beguiled thought, then she stood up with the crowd and went to look at the next picture.
The two of them sat down in the cafeteria, and spoke briefly about other things – never about art, while the other patrons broke bread and buzzed noisily about the gallery.