#102 Lisbon
"Do you think that's art?" she asked me. I sat and stared for a moment at the cheap picture on the wall. It was a long moment. Maybe several moments. I agreed that either her or I could easily have painted it. A moment longer. My friend had probably begun to turn her thoughts elsewhere.
The painting was a rough outline of a young girl, stood next to a large bird, a couple of times her size. I think it was an emu. A moment longer. There must be a point to it. I never really understood art properly. I didn't know if it was supposed to invoke a particular feeling. I thought that it probably was. Like perfume for the eyes.
Suddenly something clicked. The daunting feeling of alivemess that the young girl must have felt to have such a large bird just inches in front of her. It wouldn't have been fear or curiosity or friendship. This was a picture of what it felt like to encounter an animal. It might have been all of those feelings mixed together.
The girl stood openly with her shoulders down and slightly back, her palms by her sides but facing the giant bird, whose head was pointed towards her shoes. One small girl, fascinated by life for an instant. I thought it might be art. I hoped it was.
1 comment
Art is good for the soul.
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