Her mouth stands stoically on her face-no smiles, no frowns-but her eyes reveal all. Speaking with such detail her every thought on the art before her.
Its Thursday afternoon; we are alone in the gallery. My eyes roam back and forth from the paintings to this intriguing character. In the same way I do, she kneels in front of the art; eyes scanning every detail, analyzing every stroke, noting every subtle color change. The camera dangling from her shoulder, now rests inches from the ground. Quality and wear speak of her photographic passion. Moving from one painting to the next, our eyes meet. Neither takes the effort to hide it or expand on it. Back to the art.
A willow near the water catches my gaze. The serene painting sweeps me up. For ten, maybe fifteen, minutes my mind is home once again; relaxing on the shore of the creek. I can hear the water gently moving against the stubborn rock; singing its song on its quest for freedom. The wind chimes in with its harmony echoing through the thin willow branches. Taking off my shoes, I slowly dip my feet into the cold, but inviting water. So refreshing, so pure, so perfect. As I snap back into reality--from the country back to the city. I miss home, but I do not dwell on it.
As I enter the next exhibit, she is already there. The tone is completely different. Interactive digital art. The graphics on the wall dance with our every move and sound. Finally, a smile breaks across her face like it had been waiting for its chance to shine. Still no words, but we have connected. Smiles turn to laughs as we move through the rest of the exhibit.
Now walking next to each other, we head upstairs for the main gallery. The silence is broken as she asks, "American?" I nod and ask "Korean?" She confirms with a smile.
Nearly two more hours we spend observing, analyzing, and discussing art. Quickly reaching a point where silence is not awkward somehow allows for a deeper connection and appreciation for each other and the art. Words are few, but meaningful when spoken. We separate at times, but always come back.
As we reach the end, we talk for a bit in the lobby. Telling brief summaries of our lives and interests. She asks, "By the way, what is your name?" We both laugh at the exclusion of such basic information. She tells me her name in Korean, but I only remember her English name, Sarah. Her two friends are waiting on her so we bid each other farewell, without the exchange of phone numbers or email addresses, knowing we will never see each other again.
Another soon-to-be forgotten friend. Another beautiful experience.
(2009)
