1

. WHEN LOVE IS LIKE A CONTROVERSIAL PIECE OF MODERN ART; NO-ONE LIKES IT, BUT EVERYONE
HAS SEEN IT.

My brush touched the surface of the water; ruby turned a delicate fleshy pink as paint
gave away from the brush hairs in a swirl.

‘Are you making coffee?’ The intercom spurted out.

I stood and gave a triangle and tree stretch, and swayed my way across to the kitchen and paused
to engage a finger to the green button on the panel by the door. I watched as water vaporized up
through the kettle spout, which reformed again on the darkened kitchen window. Through these
small recomposed droplets I could see a Dali whirl of lights outside.

‘Hey darling,’ Janie’s voice chimed like a peaking arc of a spring rainbow, ‘What you watching
out there?’

‘Lights and colour Janie,’ I crushed my lips onto her two clean checks, ‘You’ve got some rouge
on tonight.’ I gave my friend a Mona Lisa smile.

‘No I haven’t! I was going for “Natural Demurest” tonight,’ her eyes caught my deepened
crimson smile, ‘nice one darling— where’s my coffee?’

‘I was just doing that, go clean yourself up you’re looking like a right Venus tart.’ Two empty
cups clinked in my hand and I satisfied them with hot coffee.

The sound of running water rose over the curtain in the far right corner and then Janie’s voice
‘Sara is this lipstick or paint? Oh my, gosh this stuff is like make-up for a mortician,’ really she
didn’t sound that indignant, ‘I’m glad Mark was busy tonight.’

As I measured out whiskey shots, I asked ‘Why haven’t I met this modern man marvel yet?’

‘He wants to take it slow you know— knowing each other first—then knowing all the friends. I
think he might be the one you know.’

Janie met me in the middle of the room still rubbing at her cheeks and relieved me of a cup of
Irish coffee.

‘This is beautiful.’

‘I save the good stuff for you, you know that.’

 2

. WHEN LOVE IS LIKE A CONTROVERSIAL PIECE OF MODERN ART; NO-ONE LIKES IT, BUT EVERYONE
HAS SEEN IT.

‘No, not the coffee— well, the, yeah the coffee is great thanks,’ Janie’s arm flourished a wave in
front of her, with a chorus of delicate tinkling following her arms movement, ‘This. Oh, this is
gorgeous Sara. I was only here on Wednesday, you’ve been working heaps.’

We sat down by an opened window and looked at the easel holding my current project. ‘The
exhibition is in four weeks, this is the last piece. I’m hoping the theatre will keep it afterwards.
Did you see the way each person is touching another person? It’s warm and cosy isn’t it? ’

‘“City Loves”, you’re such a romantic Sara. You and Mark would get on so well’ Janie had a
look on her face like Picassos’ Woman in White, classic beauty.

We gazed out of the third story window, a real-production of my painting that was behind us. On
the other side of the street people milled around the theatre foyer under white bulbs of light, an
intimate group halted on the outer edge of the foyer. A man stopped at the intersection on our
right that seized Janie’s attention.

‘Ooo, wow, that’s Mark. I’ll be back in a tick,’ Janie sprouted her form up and fluttered out
before she finished the sentence. The door hung open and Janie’s voice carried up the stairs as
she descended, ‘You might finally get to meet him darling, Love in the City, Sara!’

I watched and waited for Janie to appear down on the street. The intimate group moved snugly to
a small table setting on the sidewalk. Mark met them and pulled out a chair for one of the
women, he reached over her shoulder and kissed her on the neck. Mark halted in front of this
other and decreased his stature by kneeling down on one knee.

‘Oh-My-?!?’ I moved so fast, my coffee cup flew from my hand as I sprinted out the open door. I
spilled out onto the street, and my body churned, Janie was standing in the middle of the road.

‘Mark?’ Janie seemed to say it not to him but the impenetrable opaque space about her.

In a concave vision, at the far end of this hollow I saw Mark’s face clearly for the first time.
He’d risen-up and turned to the street. I watched as Janie quivered, fluttered in her space and
crumpled. I watched as love crumbled to a white powder that took all colour from Janie’s face.
Mark took a step and became a statue; he hung his head like one of Rodin’s Dammed.