Soapy

Not ever,

There's a painting I've been obsessed with for a few months now. It's of a person, gender unspecified, and they're sitting in a big dark room. They're cuddled in fetal position, and in the center is the world. In their eyes is the solar system, and in their hair is the universe. Art is a concept to make people feel something in their own perception. From my eyes, I see the painting representing the insignificance of human social standards. The person sitting there has no identifiable gender because gender is trivial compared to the scope of the world. Not only gender, though. Everything that follows with it. The standards that it takes to be a respectable male or female, the discrimination between either cisgender, the amount of worrying and bullying over "do I look gay in this?" and "This isn't girly enough,", all of it is irrelevant in the scope of the world, moons, and stars. I could be completely wrong, someone else could see it in a totally different way, but that's the beauty of art, isn't it? It reaches each and every person in a different way. 

I stare at the painting, finally seeing in person, with my own eyes for the first time. I've always seen it through my computer screen, but now it's in it's prime right in front of me. I stand in awe, admiring each detail. This is why I do art. To paint a message to the world. I mean, not much of the world see's any of my art. But looking at other people's art always gives me the hope that maybe someday a part of the world will see my art, and feel the same feeling I feel now.  I don't know, maybe I'm just a hopeless dreamer. 

"I've seen you admire this painting many times on your phone and laptop. That's how I got the idea of taking you here. So you can see it, whatever it is, in person," 

"You don't see it?" I ask her, my eye's never leaving the painting.

"No, I don't speak art. Maybe you can teach me a little something," she says to me with a smile.

"Already planning on it," I turn to look at her, so prepared to explain every detail of the painting.

"Before you start, little Ms. Van Gogh, I need to use the tank. We'll continue this conversation soon? she says quickly as she gives me a swift kiss and speed walks to the nearest bathroom.

I admire her walk away but soon enough, my eye's are glued back to the painting. I'm always finding a new detail I didn't notice before and trying to make sense of it. Each thing painted is like an intriguing piece of a puzzle for the audience to  sort out in their minds. I don't think I'll ever be able to look away.

"You've been staring at Moi et toi for quite some time now," a girl says from behind me. "Understandable, though. It is a beautiful piece."

"Moi et Toi?" I ask the girl as she walks to stand beside me.

"The painting," she points. "Moi et Toi. French for Me and You. It's the name of the painting."

"Oh. It's one of my favorite art works and I didn't even know the name," I say, embarrassed.

"Most people don't. I'm just kind of an art freak," she laughs.

"As am I," I smile at her.

"Bryn Cotton," she hands out her hand for a shake. "My friends call me Candy."

Bryn Cotton wore a crop top plain grey shirt, the collar and end of the short sleeves being black, with a high waist black buttoned skirt that went down to mid thigh with black stockings under. Her jean jacket hung off her as she held it up with her forearms, and I imagine her black low top converse were that dirty as a fashion sense. The whole color scheme of the outfit matched perfectly with her dark skin, and her smile was the type of smile that made her cheeks huge and chipmunk like. She was another glasses-wearer, but hers were completely round with metal frames that made the dark brown of her eyes more pronounced. Her hair was long, down to her back, in thick braids. She put the top part of it into a bun on top of her head and let the rest hang. She is beautiful.