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TANYA
Tanya walks in front of me. I follow her as she walks through the Art Museum. I am oblivious to the great works of art on the walls. The modern art does nothing for me at this moment. I don’t understand any of it. As far as I am concerned, Tanya is the finest work of art in the building. No painter or sculptor can approach the work of God when a beautiful woman blossoms in front of you.
She occasionally turns to me and makes some observation about the artwork. I am indifferent to the art and not sure about what she is saying, The sound of her voice is lyrical. I nod my head and say, “yes” or “ugh huh” and agree with her. I don’t care about this art. I only care about Tanya. She is the wondrous work of inspiration. Van Gogh could never say as much as her eyes.
These great works of art are beyond me. I am a rube; a simple suburban boy. I have found a great beauty in Tanya. I take hold of her hand as we walk through the gallery. A line etched down the side of the wall is viewed as a great work of art. I feel like questioning this but I bite my tongue. I tighten my grip on Tanya’s hand and we just walk along.
