New York, July 2006:
"Hi." She extended her right hand. "I'm Megan, by the way."
This was how I met Jessica, and lying about her name is a good example of the relationship we shared. I shook her hand casually, absently, while I absorbed the brilliance of Claude Monet surrounding me. With her left hand she brushed her smooth, blonde hair back behind her ear and out of her face. A mischievous sparkle in her large brown eyes would have told me all I needed to know but instead I continued my diatribe.
"Maybe I just don't understand modern art but I think Monet's works might be the only things worth viewing here." I waved my arm indicating as much of New York's Museum of Modern Art as I could in one swing, and sighed. I had stopped at a bench in a room devoted to His 'Reflections of Clouds on the Water-Lily Pond'. She had sat down shortly thereafter. "I mean, honestly, was that art back there simply a chair? Really?"
She chuckled and smiled at me like a mother with her child, "Yes, it was just a chair but that's why it's amazing! Kosuth forces us to question, not the chair itself, but the meaning behind the chair and the implications of its existence as a work of art. It's the very definition of Conceptual." She was very enthusiastic.
I frowned at her, this stranger who could apparently see beyond the material form of the chair into a realm of conceptually implied non-chair reasoning.
Jessica tilted her head to the side with a grin, wondering if I understood. I didn't, but nodded sagely, declaring, "of course, but I still prefer Monet."
It was then that he angrily entered the room, angrily looked around, angrily muttered something to himself before finally, angrily, sitting down in a huff. He had short brown hair and squinty, beady eyes. He wasn't very much taller than me. I had an immediate dislike of him and could easily conjure an image of him as the type of man to physically mistreat a woman.
This was how I met Jessica, and lying about her name is a good example of the relationship we shared. I shook her hand casually, absently, while I absorbed the brilliance of Claude Monet surrounding me. With her left hand she brushed her smooth, blonde hair back behind her ear and out of her face. A mischievous sparkle in her large brown eyes would have told me all I needed to know but instead I continued my diatribe.
"Maybe I just don't understand modern art but I think Monet's works might be the only things worth viewing here." I waved my arm indicating as much of New York's Museum of Modern Art as I could in one swing, and sighed. I had stopped at a bench in a room devoted to His 'Reflections of Clouds on the Water-Lily Pond'. She had sat down shortly thereafter. "I mean, honestly, was that art back there simply a chair? Really?"
She chuckled and smiled at me like a mother with her child, "Yes, it was just a chair but that's why it's amazing! Kosuth forces us to question, not the chair itself, but the meaning behind the chair and the implications of its existence as a work of art. It's the very definition of Conceptual." She was very enthusiastic.
I frowned at her, this stranger who could apparently see beyond the material form of the chair into a realm of conceptually implied non-chair reasoning.
Jessica tilted her head to the side with a grin, wondering if I understood. I didn't, but nodded sagely, declaring, "of course, but I still prefer Monet."
It was then that he angrily entered the room, angrily looked around, angrily muttered something to himself before finally, angrily, sitting down in a huff. He had short brown hair and squinty, beady eyes. He wasn't very much taller than me. I had an immediate dislike of him and could easily conjure an image of him as the type of man to physically mistreat a woman.
Like most people who appreciate art, those who had gathered in the room choose to avoid his obvious, seething aggression and filed quickly and quietly out of the room. Uncomfortable as it was, I chose to stay purely out of spite. This was a mistake. Turning to me, he glared.
"Have you seen a blonde?" He growled.
"A few, actually." I answered dismissively, glancing where Jessica had, until recently, been. I hadn't seen her leave although, to be fair, I hadn't even noticed if she'd been clothed. I was clearly far too absorbed in art-related concerns.
"Bah," he spat, storming from the room.
I immediately stood and headed for the exit, not risking his return. Besides, modern art obviously did not agree with me and, more importantly, I was hungry. Maybe an ice cream, a stroll through Central Park, and a visit to the Museum of Natural History before heading back to my hotel would turn the day around.
"Have you seen a blonde?" He growled.
"A few, actually." I answered dismissively, glancing where Jessica had, until recently, been. I hadn't seen her leave although, to be fair, I hadn't even noticed if she'd been clothed. I was clearly far too absorbed in art-related concerns.
"Bah," he spat, storming from the room.
I immediately stood and headed for the exit, not risking his return. Besides, modern art obviously did not agree with me and, more importantly, I was hungry. Maybe an ice cream, a stroll through Central Park, and a visit to the Museum of Natural History before heading back to my hotel would turn the day around.
(Nikon D300, 18mm, f/5,6, 1/1250, ISO 200)
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