Fiction, Melbourne, Opinion, Writing

Work of Art

‘See the thing about art is it’s open to interpretation,’ Noah says.

Sarah shakes her head, as if to repudiate his words, his opinion. ‘Nup. Sorry. This is absolute rubbish.’

‘Come on, Sarz. You’re being deliberately obtuse.’

‘I’m not. I could paint a better picture than this. A child could,’ Sarah crosses her arms over her chest, standing in front of the huge painting. ‘Look at all these squiggly lines.’

‘Those lines represent the journey of life Sarz. Our timeline might be linear, but our journeys twist back on themselves.’

‘God, now you sound like an esoteric wanker.’ She walks away. ‘I’ll be in the cafeteria when you’re done.’

Photo by Orlova Maria on Unsplash

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