Very Fine Arts
by M. V.
Montgomery
I. found art
I am commuting on the
interstate when a small truck pulls into the lane
ahead. The truck is an off-white color with a
name like Bepoe Construction Materials on
the side. My first reaction as a driver is to
express irritation, but suddenly I check that
impulse.
On the back of the truck,
the driver has stacked two columns of pre-packaged
sheetrock. The packages have a diagonal logo
cutting across the edge. They have been placed
one on top of the other to form a perfect V. Or
almost perfect—the left ray of the V is
slightly staggered by a small bundle on top that
projects slightly outward.
The whole thing is hit just
right by the morning light: the smooth white
frame of the truck, the modernist gray-green V,
the ripple effect at the top.
Then another truck in the
next lane, a light red, pulls even with the first
one, showing it off in still better contrast. I
am almost overcome.
I honk my horn in
appreciation.
2. le mot juste
A colleague lends me a book
to read over break. I am excited because I have
been searching for it for some time.
I thank him so effusively
that I begin to mix up my words. Now I’ll
really be a busy camper! I say.
No, wait—I mean, I’ll
be a happy camper, and busy as a bee!
He tells me not to worry,
that I’m certain to be a busy camper, too,
with all those bees.
3. a little tone
painting
I am half-listening to a
classical symphony and indulge in a little tone
painting. The scene is an early morning in the
garden; nature is resplendent.
The woodwinds suggest birds
gently alighting on seeds and flowers in the
garden, and then flying merrily away.
The horns and strings
suggest bounding chipmunks and bunnies, who are
no doubt interested in the garden vegetables.
The bass and percussion
lines suggest soldiers marching toward the garden.
The clash of cymbals
suggests that the soldiers are now firing upon
the chipmunks and bunnies.
4. sports report
Did you manage to catch the
U.S.A.-Ghana soccer match? As the evening
lengthened in Rustenburg, shadow “x”es,
perhaps 15-18 feet wide, spread out at the feet
of each player. You could see the narrow “x”es
crossing in and out of the circle in the middle
of the field, back and forth across the two white
lines, all around the goal box. When the players
clashed, the “x”es formed a fretwork,
then broke apart again.
The pitch was neatly
trimmed in alternating kelly and lima green
stripes, and there were other colors, too: the
bright whites of the American players; the orange
jerseys of the Ghanians with their asymmetrical
yellow stripes, like tiger claws; the bright blue
of the official; the scurrying yellow FIFA
sideline attendants; and those rogue goalkeepers
in their blacks and blues. And they say we
Americans can’t appreciate soccer!
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