Guggenheim Museum

He felt pulled by everything all at once. Scott couldn’t claim to be an expert in art; hell, he couldn’t even claim to know as much as a struggling third year college student with a minor in art appreciation. But he was an expert in knowing what he liked. “And this I like,” he said to anyone willing to listen, “which is no one.” It felt strange to Scott that there wasn’t a line of people all fighting to catch a glimpse at something more. More than what, well, Scott wasn’t sure, but if he was a betting man then he’d have wagered on more than the existence (while beautiful in its every detail) that grew numb to the everyday eye. “But this is something else.” He envisioned a struggling musician finding inspiration in a room like this to create the song that would define her career; a down-and-out construction worker, too poor to do more than drink his life away, finding the resolve to pursue the degree in marine biology he always dreamed of; or even a terminally ill patient finding the strength to embrace an afterlife in the face of science.
It wasn’t the art that created this possibility but the combination of everything going on at that exact moment. It was the sound of torrential weather slamming the outside of a terrarium Scott created within himself in the time it took to step out of an elevator. Outside those thin layers of glass surrounding the room was a savage existence of death and age, hopelessness and loss; and yet, within Scott’s artistic bubble was a sensation of something different.
“This is the type of place where anything is possible.”
“I agree,” a voice said startlingly Scott. He whipped his head around in disbelief at the woman standing in a corner that he was certain was empty.
Scott watched her watch a painting with such intensity that he questioned whether or not she had actually spoken. She stared so intently he wondered what it was he was missing. ‘Should I be looking at the paintings like that? Am I doing it wrong?’ It was like she saw something beyond the canvas, while his inept eyes took in everything all at once, never focusing but always seeing, like the entire room was on display. And yet, her emerald chips held a smoky, glazed quality that was both haunting and enchanting mingled into a dangerous addiction of desire. If she were a drug then he knew instantly that he’d end up as another of those overplayed songs, dead in a back alley. ‘At least I’d die with a smile on my face,’ he thought ruefully.
And it was her smile that brought to mind absurd songs from the early 90’s (the types of tunes he’d hear at odd hours of the night on all the classic rock stations). They were the sort of tunes that made him remember what it meant to be fifteen again with an unending supply of promise. Love was more than an idea, it was a reality, and everything was possible.

“When we met, light was shed
thoughts free flow, you said
you’ve got something deep inside of you.
A wind chime voice, sound sway of your hips round rings true,
echo’s deep inside of you.
These secret garden beams, changed my life, so it seems.
Fall breeze blows outside, I don’t bring stride.
My thoughts are warm and they go deep inside of you.”

And Scott felt fairly certain Third Eye Blind had it right. She had a look about her that hinted at something beneath the exterior. He knew that’d been said a million times by a million different people in a million different situations, but the fact remained she was one in a million. She had long legs, thin and toned that led up to a waist a man could get lost in and never want to come out. Her hair was black, and other clichés came to mind—raven, coal, midnight—but all of those adjectives failed in comparison to truly describing the beauty and shade. He still hadn’t yet felt the texture, or even the smell, but from a distance he knew she was something special. Scott watched her as he wished she watched him.

Guggenheim Museum

Dave Legere

Joined January 2008

  • Artist

Artist's Description

extract from a story I’m writing


short extract

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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