The idle ramblings of a Jack of some trades, Master of none

Apr 15, 2012

Gina Figueroa

Ambling along Mexico City's Lincoln Park, the boy and I fell into a little art gallery. We had been fighting viciously, as only superheroes and villains can, and weren't looking where we were going. A little old woman who had been slumbering in solitude snorted awake and smiled at us. 

'Hola,' said the boy.

'Buenas tardes,' said the woman.

She gestured at the visitor book. I looked at it. There hadn't been visitors for a day or two at least.

I scrawled a pseudonym.

'Come on, acha,' said the boy. 'Let us fight.'

'In a moment, please,' I said. 'Let us look at these paintings.'

He sighed and shuffled behind me.

There were several works hanging on the walls, but I only liked these.

Mixoacan, by Gina F.
Mixoacan, by Gina F.

Man on the sea, by Gina F.
Man on the sea, by Gina F.

Camouflage, by Gina F.
Camouflage, by Gina F.
The boy looked at the last one and yawned. I tried to explain why the painting was titled 'Camouflage'. He mentioned an orange dinosaur that, if it stood against an orange background, would be camouflaged. 

'Where would a dinosaur find an orange background?' I said.

'All the leaves at that time were orange,' he said.

'All the leaves?' I said.

'Okay, not all the leaves. But a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot of the leaves were orange.'

'So when it is not near those orange leaves, everybody could see it? Orange is a bright colour,' I said.

'Okay, so it did not have camouflage,' said the boy. 'I don't know. I wasn't there. It was a long time ago. Can we fight now?'


Anonymous said...

That boy will fix you!

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