"The Flea market" part 2. Part 1 here.
No, I didn’t break up with him for that photo.
For that photo, no, indeed. It was of a Machiavellian ambiguity; it lacked of passion or the renaissance features that hold the observer’s elbow while stepping into the frame, waiting for him to be accustomed to the lights and ready to be overwhelmed by the story.
Where was the symbolic bridge that links the inside to the outside world? And that mirror game, it gave it but a flat double-reading, like a playing-card.
The scene was factitious, accurate but cold and even the female body, mine in that case, tossed like that in the middle of the room couldn’t mitigate the unpleasant feeling of the imminent drama.
I pointed all this out and he took it badly.
The flame increased. “Human figure is not more important than a key or a bicycle” he said citing Léger. “It’s nonsense” I replied “Léger gave every single element of the scene a plastic value, making it part of the artwork, including the human figure!”
We argued still for some time, then the insolent whiteness of his shirt slipped into a taxi.
Yes, I broke up with him for that photo.
MicroFICTION # 19