Great short story about art in the 22nd Century by Paul Trembling
Time, Art, & Criticism
There was only one exhibit, but it dominated the room. A discreet brass plaque gave its title: ‘Seasons of a Tree’.
The Tree itself was an oak, I think – it’s not really my area. Full size, fully grown. It appeared to be just putting out the first leaves of spring. And it was ever so slightly blurred. Not so much as to be obvious, but as you stared at it your eyeballs started to ache, and then you realised that you were constantly trying to focus properly. It was as if the light around the Tree had been slightly greased.
“What do you think?”
I turned round, mildly surprised to be addressed. I don’t get invited to many of these functions, and tend to be a bit of a wallflower when I do. I’m a newcomer in this field, a hanger-on and an eavesdropper to the conversations of the Great and the Wise.
But, having said that, there were surprisingly few guests for such a prestigious event – and many of those were there ‘in light only’. Nor were there as many famous faces, real or holo-projected, as I would have expected.
“I’m impressed,” I replied cautiously. “It’s – dramatic. Different. Totally unique, of course.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the Tree was now fully leaved, radiating that quality of green that nature does so well and artists struggle to imitate.