Him/Her
By M J Sewall, Coastal Dunes Branch
“So how do we do this, exactly?” He stood in front of the painting, on the mostly deserted first floor.
She instructed through her cell phone, “Just describe the painting in front of you in descriptive detail.”
“Then you describe the painting you’re looking at? Why can’t we just analyze art looking at the same painting?”
“Because, Mr.-want-to-be-a-writer, this is about us describing what the other cannot see. You describe the painting to me and make it come alive with your words. Then I’ll do the same.” she answered, standing in a different floor of the museum.
“So, literally paint a picture in your mind by describing a picture? Very cute.”
“I know. I’m extremely clever,” said she.
“Okay. My painting is very large, it’s by the artist…”
“Nope. No shortcuts. If I knew the artist I might have an expectation in my mind. Just describe what you see, lover man. Seduce me with your words.”
He stared at the painting, and took the challenge, “I see a deep sea of aquamarine. Our hero stands on a field of red flowers. He’s poised on the edge of destiny, about to board the mighty ship that will begin his great adventures.”
“Oooo. That’s good. But I want more…” she whispered.
“But the way forward is not clear. There are dark splotches of storm approaching from the horizon, suspended in time, his destiny frozen, awaiting our hero’s fateful decision.” He allows a pause to linger, “The end. Your turn.”
He hears the smile in her voice, “A little artus-interuptus, but it will have to do. I think I like this game. And your painting sounds amazing. So, I’m turning away from the white wall that I’ve been staring at when you described your painting. Go find a wall of your own. No good staring at another painting while I describe mine… It’s pretty busy in my part of the museum. Ok, got one. Let me begin.”
“I’m always ready,” he whispered into her ear, through the cell.
“Well, unlike your adventurous scene, my painting is much quieter…”
He interrupted, “You have to do better than that. Don’t use catchphrases. No short cuts, remember? More adjectives please, Miss-I-want-to-be-a-writer-too.”
“Okay, I’ll lay it on you, so to speak.” This time she catches his smile over the invisible air. “This blazing marketplace, maybe in Cairo, maybe some place even more exotic. The beautiful girl with light brown skin might be no older than sixteen, standing next to her wildflower cart. Jasmine, orchids, chrysanthemums, even rose blooms burst out in all directions, unable to contain themselves. The cart is far too small, and it feels as if the colors will consume the girl, take her into their verdant world and devour her in a blaze…” she delights in the last pause, “…of rainbow fire.”
He lets the last line wash over him, then a deep warm chuckle, “Awesome. And I want to see your painting first. What section are you in?”
“Umm, 2B. Second floor.”
He looks around for the numbers on his own walls and asks curiously, “Wait. 2B? Are you sure? What painting are you looking at?”
“The Jackson Pollock. The really big one.”
He laughs, “Step a little closer to the railing and look down.”
She peers around the railing overlooking the Jackson Pollock painting, while Dave waves at her from the first floor, in front of the same painting.
For more about M J Sewall and his new short story collection
Wild Monsters Dance About, Stories from an Unruly Mind,
visit his website mjsewall.com.