Seattle Art Fair, August 5th, 2018

  • Oil tanker, stranded in the desert, bleeding rust onto the burning sand. A second tanker, bleached, worn down to iron ore, the plateua around it white, radiant.
  • Animal-faced children, masked adults stare out of raised canvases, making my neck tilt back to see them full. Whatever. Boo!
  • I see it four exhibits ahead, other side of the aisle. I pretened not to notice, steal away quick glances, play hard-to-get and plot a course that winds through the competition. I narrow my focus, try not to think of or look at the object of my desire, work up emotionally to seeing it in all its glory, but only after pining after it for a sufficient time.

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