Face á face

'diable-angle'



Rain beat down on the grey pavement outside. Lightning, an occasional intruder to my serenity, struck with a deafening noise, but to the depths of my soul, all stood still. My gaze transfixed, scrutinized the French words scribed in golden ink below the monotone canvas.



The colour is quite wrong and so is the wording, I thought to myself. When the mind finds an object that draws its attention to such degree, it becomes guilty of the menial offence of overlooking the other, more palpable entities in its vicinity. This realisation struck me as I felt a rather ominous presence next to me.



Presence of the 'public' in a public art showcase is nothing unusual, but owing partially to the fact that we live in an era of political correctness and partially to my heightened sense of anxiety it was quite obvious that this person, whoever they may be, stood at a distance at which they would either try to abduct me the next second or were trying to grab my attention in a very subtle ways. In a conventional interaction, a person in my position would step exactly two steps away while sparing the slightest glance to the entity that caused their displacement, but as minutes passed, upon noticing my lack of response, the person finally gave up on indirect means. He stood at an angle that blocked about one-fourth of my vision and began to speak.
'Interesting piece isn't it, especially the golden lettering that contrasts with the monotone painting'



I was about to point out that the lettering was a mistake and in the process of doing so happened to throw a glance at his person, which made the words get stuck in my throat. Perhaps the most striking element about the sculpture like human before me was the striking golden eyes, which harmonized perfectly with his oriental features.



The person smiled as if he was expecting such a reaction, which is expected, considering someone like him probably gets complemented by every second person he meets.



'It makes you feel as if the artist wanted to potray redemption,' he continued



'redemption?'
The painting depicted a dark silhoutte, leaving a room filled with corpses. The silhoutte's hands were behind its back and head hung low in a way that it was unclear whether it was a man or a woman, or even a human. To top it all off, the painting only used shades of grey with some occasional scarlet. In no way was there any redemption involved. Ofcourse i would know I painted it for God's sake.



'The golden lettering is a french word which is often used as a literary device to show contrast and irony, coupled with the coloring , I'm sure the artist wanted to show a helpless devil in search of redemption' he explained as if explaining to a child and I did not have the heart to point out that the calligrapher made a mistake thus I kept quite and silently nodded.



'We seem to share similar interests ,I'm running late for the moment, but if you ever want to discuss paintings with someone...' he said, shoving a card into my hand and practically ran off.



The last time I checked ,this is not how a standard encounter with a stranger is supposed to go, —but what do I know about social interactions?— Since my job here was done, I left feeling rather perplexed while making a mental note to myself to give that calligrapher a nice talking to.



Outside, the rain had become a light drizzle, there was no sign of the golden-eyed stranger.