The Corridor

A life spent in corridors hadn't prepared her for the sensation she got when she came across the mural. It froze her in her tracks, feeling momentarily like Alice faced with a looking glass that was a bit behind with its presentation of reflections. Who was the owner of the image? This painting, located between the two galleries that the main exhibition was situated in, had touched her more than any of the post-modern posturing she had witnessed. There was a lyrical simplicity in its framing -- it was anchored to the real world: it had a presence in her world. And for a moment ... just for a moment, she wondered whether she might leave this place and walk into some mirror reality where life was artful and not mundane like hers seemed to be at the moment. But no, she had to return to the gallery - that cul-de-sac of thought where no one created, but only found their art. So she would leave the corridor - truly, she thought, her habitat - and she would leave behind this transitional place and go to a place of terminus, where process ended. She would leave behind that figure fossilised in paint who whispered truths to her that the people in the gallery would forever be deaf to.