A figure of capable imagination appeared from beneath a pile of debris. I wrestled with the concept for a moment, at a loss for words in a sense. But before I could disconnect the signal, our sequence of interpretations somehow mixed. I found a skeptical but comforting compromise between stations, not at all aware of the difference between the subject I and the object me.

     I stepped from behind the mask of anxiety, magic, rituals and taboo avoidances to comprehend what he knew. And as fate brought us closer I could no longer hide from the truth. He uttered something about enlightenment principles and empiricism. He spoke about the fashions, fades, and failures of the Black man's plight.

     Our discourse lead us to paintings centered on mystery and hate and as he sanitized the rhetoric, I lost the desire to debate. It was as if we had walked into a gallery of art.  Among his collection of views was a painting of resistance and reformation in the South.  He handled each century and word as delicate as a snowflake.  He played old African fore lore with his own vernacular and wit.  And every question I raised, he found a painting that fit.

When Art Speak

Antonio Moses Author 2013