Flamingo

I made the mistake of trying to see the picture before I put my glasses on. It looked like a watercolor.

Susan stood in the gallery staring at the framed and matted photos. She didn't go to the galleries on the island often. Most of the art for sale was patently made for sale to tourists. Tourists who most often left their good sense--and good taste too she thought--at home. What seemed to sell best were naive paintings of colorful flowers, palm trees, and romantic depictions of island life. Too many of them to count made their way onto cruise ships and airplanes to hang in middle-class living rooms as a reminder of a few days' holiday in the tropics. But these photos were different. Jorge Provenza, whoever he was, had used light like a paintrush and his camera lens as his canvas. What might have been a trite picture of a lone flamingo at sunset in less imaginative hands, had become through Jorge's eye an abstract shape emerging from flame-colored water. No sky, no trees, just barely ruffled water and that distinctive silhouette. Susan leaned closer. Damn. Not for sale.

Was it a mistake? Now I don't think so.
--Barbara