Possibilities

  I never understood what people saw in modern art. I hated art museums as a kid. My parents would bring my brother and I to lots of museums, them being artists themselves. We would walk around, having deep conversations about every piece of art that we saw. My brother would get really into. He would quote Kierkegaard and Locke, as if it was a game to him. For me, these epiphanies, concepts, never came. All I saw was what it was. A starving artist doing their best to get by. My least favorite museums were modern art museums. At least in others, there were pretty dresses and paintings from times before Instagram. At modern art museums, it felt like I was always looking at things people had thrown away.  Usually, the art consisted of a pile of things, usually something everyone has like clothing or post its. The plaque would always read something like "Dawn of Time" or "Running out of time", always something with "time". The ideas were so deep, complex, sometimes dramatic even. I know that's harsh, but I thought it was the truth.

For some reason today, I felt the need for some art, some modern art. I had never had this feeling before. In my childhood, I would beg to go anywhere but the art museum. Today felt different though, as if the art was finally going to tell me something. 

The museum was not crowded, thank goodness. I was standing in front of an oversized shirt covered in graffiti, when I felt someone walk up beside me. At first, I didn't turn. Probably someone entranced with the art, reliving their childhood memories. I wouldn't dare disturb their train of thought.

"Powerful, isn't it?" the person said. I turned, it was a man with curly hair, thick black glasses, and a hoodie. He was one of those people that you would not notice unless you really looked.

"Oh, yes, very powerful" I replied.

"I can tell that was sarcasm, by the way." he chuckled.

"Sarcasm? I don't think so " I laughed. He turned and lifted his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I just don't get it" I admitted, shrugging my shoulders, all while still staring at the shirt; the unwashed, graffiti covered shirt.

"What is 'it'?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You said 'I just don't get it', what is the 'it' you are referring to?" he said, cleverly.

"I mean the art, I am supposed to feel something right? I am supposed to have some epiphany that changes the trajectory of my life for the better. The birds are supposed the sing, the clouds part, and everything makes sense. " I gestured, trying to hide the frustration in my voice.

There was a moment of silence, the type of unwanted silence strangers desperately try to avoid.

"I don't think art is for the spectators, it's for the artist" the man spoke.

"Wow, very wise. What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Artist do not make their art for other people, they make it for themselves. Sure, they do everything in their power to get it into museums for everyone to see, but they did not make it for them. An audience is just a nice add-on, the real prize is having their feelings made into a tangible object."

Silence, once again. This time though, it was comfortable silence. The type that two best friends sit in after a deep conversation.

"I never thought of it like that." I whispered.

"I am Lachlan, by the way. " he reached out his hand for me to shake. I took it, our clasped hands bobbed up and down.

"I'm Lacey. Funny, it says the artist name is Lachlan also." I laughed.

Lachlan's eyebrows went up, and he smiled. The realization filtered in.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, is this yours? I did not mean to make fun of it, it is really very good." I scrambled, I could feel my face turning red and hot.

"Believe me, you did not insult it. Even if you did, it would not matter. Like I said, artists do not make their art for their audience." he smiled.

"Not even like I beautiful painting for a lovely lady of her favorite flower, now, that is probably for the 'spectator' right?" I questioned.

"I suppose, but really it is a symbol of the love the artist has for that person, if it is a gift." he nodded.

Wow, this guy was good. A wise sentiment after the next, he was just full of them.

"Can I ask," he started, "why do you feel the need for such an epiphany?".

"Oh you know, life is not moving any slower, and I still have no idea what I want with my life. " I admitted.

"Is that not the best part of life though, the unknown, the void, the emptiness? Do I dare say, the possibilities?" he advised.

I chuckled.

"Possibilities are fun, until you do not know when you are going to find your person. And I know that finding your person is not everything in life. Yet, you get to a point when you truly do not know if they are out there, and it feels like time is running out." I could feel all my insecurities bubbling up.

"How do you know that your person is not in this room?" he asked.

I laughed, looking around.

"I mean, you are right, I have no idea." I smiled.

"Here take this", he reached out his hand with a piece of paper. "Text me anytime, I can give you a proper tour of the museum. And who knows, maybe I'm your person."

I took the paper and placed it in my pocket.

"Do you keep a piece of paper with your number on that you just hand out to girls?" I chuckled.

"Only the prettiest ones." he winked. Lachlan walked away around the corner. I was so stunned by our conversation that I forgot to look at what his art was called.

"Possibilities".