Photo Essay: Sanding ~ Violet

Her eye restively flitted about the image on the gallery wall. “I’m not sure where to look,” she said.

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to look at any one thing,” he replied.

She seemed no less perturbed.

“It’s very modern,” he added. “I’m not sure there’s supposed to be a subject.”

She curled up one side of her mouth, crossed her arms and swung most of her weight on her left hip. “What does it mean,” she asked, her eyes still seeking a place to rest, looking for something to like about the image.

“Well,” he replied, “it’s modern, so it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

She snorted. “That’s a cop-out.”

“Can’t something just be beautiful?”

Her restless eyes rested on him. Lingering. Finally, “what’s beautiful about this?”

He looked at her. Looked back to the image.

“I like the textures. I like the way the bright colour here runs a nice long curve alongside the darker grey, the way the scratches cutting through it give the line a sort of harried feel. I like the way the artist monochromatically filled the frame.”

She hadn’t stopped looking at him, which he now noticed, so he turned back to her.

She looked into his eyes. “It is very, very violet,” she said, flatly.

He looked back to the image. “Yes, it is a lovely vibrant colour, isn’t it?” He asked, hopefully.

“I don’t like violet.”

“Oh…” He didn’t look back at her.

She looked back at the image, after a moment tapping her foot. Once. Twice…

Before she could tap again, he blurted, “perhaps if it was yellow?”

She took out her cell phone, pointedly opening Tinder.