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Short story: <i>Envy in Life and Art</i>

It was a collection of beautiful people, luscious people, dynamic people, mysterious people, thin people, poised people.

An accumulation of drinks with cherries, olives, salted rims, obscene pinks. An assemblage of tight black dresses, spiky black shoes, edgy black jackets. A collation of red leather bags, shiny red scarves, baubled red watches, perfect red nails, heavy red mouths. A convergence of twelve heavy white walls, unattached edges, snowy faces, sleek lengths, monumental gravitas. A compilation of white marble floor tiles, black scuff marks, champagne spills, paper napkins, conversing shoes, subtle polish. A single ceiling, unobserved, unattended, indeterminate existence.

And then there was the art.

A collection, accumulation, assemblage, collation, convergence, compilation of artistry on canvas, board, oilpaint, glass jars, hand mirrors, rusty nails, blue leather, oranges, umbrellas, coat hangers, pastel, doors, projections, charcoal, cut/looped film, LCD, acrylics, reflecting the suspended reality of the gathering in the gallery and their beautiful/cherry/tight/red/heavy/white presences.

There was the shimmy of a black dress and a pulse of heavy lipstick in the corner under the ten foot canvas representation of pensive frustration on a corrugated background.

There was the elegant shrug of a trendy jacketed shoulder and the casual crush of a cigarette but beneath an Italian leather shoe watched by a deliberate abomination of rusted paperclips set in false teeth screaming desperation.

There was a clipping of spiky black shoes and the swing of a red leather bag juxtaposed by a pre-Raphaelite nude in a passé glade of greenery.

The shades of nuanced ennui ignored the hurled vessel of champagne, the drenched white shirt, the glass splinters artistically sharding over the marble tiles, silk stockings, Italian leather. The shriek, the recriminations, the red nails raked down an immaculately shaved jaw, the quiet tuxedoed security.

The pensive frustration, screaming desperation, voluptuous slatterns, lustful textures, rusted betrayal, distraught leather realisation, unrequited coathangers and cut/looped exit soaked in champagne were ignored from the floor while life watched life and art imitated it.

This is the result of a thirty minute writing exercise. This week I have been given the seven deadly sins as themes and a corresponding set of locations for each one. Today's sin and setting were: envy and an art gallery opening.

Image courtesy of olib.

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