In a gallery, laced with white walls.
White walls decorated with squares of different sizes.
The squares of different sizes, with works of art enclosed in them.
Works of art, showing distorted faces.
The crowd stared at it. Contended, they smiled smiles, showing how emotionally linked they were to the pieces.
The artist, who stood distant from the crowd, smirked a knowing smirk. Of course everyone of them related to distorted faces.
The crowd, as expected by the artist, seemed reminiscent of all their flaws, be it mental or physical. Somehow, they all seemed so unsatisfied with some part of themselves as they stared at these paintings, as if someone acknowledged and accepted these flaws.
‘Society’. “‘Society’ is to blame!”, their minds yelled in unison. And with that, they went back to simply admiring the work.
The artist smiled pitifully at the crowd. His conscience ranting, going off about how, “It’s so very sad that today, they relate so well and find solace in art with distorted beings painted across the canvas. When they who gaze upon such work so admiringly, look perfectly normal. No eyes replacing noses, no oddly shaped faces, limbs which look perfectly fine and functional. And all they do is look at themselves in these paintings, feeling insecure, thinking that this is how society sees them –flawed.
And yet what they haven’t noticed is that they are very much part of this society that they blame, as if it was some external force they were never part of. They never realise that eventually, it’s in their hands to change views, to turn heads, and to trigger, in people, the need to question. It’s all in our hands.”
The artist couldn’t agree more. Yet, like everyone else, he chose to stay silent about it.
Yes, hi-hello. This is me, not being silent.