A Conversation of Sorts

Watch out for Tense: I would make all of it present tense or past tense and be consistent...

Standing at the edge of a pool, looking at his feet, Felix Gonzalez-Torres contemplates his life. He dips a single toe into the water and relishes in the soothing sensation it brings. The sun beats down on his back, and he takes his hand and wipes away the sweat that tickles his neck. Looking up, he sees a man approaching from the distance. He squints his eyes and tries to figure out if he recognizes this person. As the man gets closer, Felix realizes it is Joseph Kosuth. (A longtime friend and fellow contemporary artist, Joseph liked to visit Felix whenever he could find the time.) Felix was a quiet man, and had never been the same after his lover Ross’ death. Reaching out his arms, Joseph embraces Felix.

“It’s good to see you, old friend.”

“It’s good to see you too, Felix," said Joseph. He quickly looked at the grass beneath him, so Felix couldn’t see him choking back his tears. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Felix, what are you doing here on this glorious day? This pool looks so inviting, and yet you are not taking advantage of its refreshing embrace.”

“It is true, but I don’t feel much like swimming today,” sighed Felix. He lowered his head and continued to look at the water, reflecting quietly on what he had created.

“This is one of your pieces?” asked Joseph, suddenly ashamed that he did not take the time to notice it as he had walked by. The piece was made of two circular pools, conjoined just barely on the sides, and sharing an almost undetectable amount of water.

“Well, I must say it’s quite beautiful!” exclaimed Joseph. It reminds me of your other piece, you know, the one with the clocks."

Felix let out a sigh and nodded his head, but did not look up at Joseph.

“I love that piece. The two identical clocks hanging on the wall side by side. The fact that they were timed the same, so that even the seconds ticked together in unison! It was simply breathtaking!”

Felix smiled, “I’m glad you think so. I made it as a representation of the love between two people. It doesn’t matter who you love, for time passes all the same.” Suddenly Felix began to cough and Joseph could only stand helplessly and wait for him to clear whatever was in his chest.

“Enough about my art, Joseph. Tell me about yours. I’ve been hearing things about your ‘One and Three Chairs’ installation. It’s very intriguing, I must say.”

Joseph blushed, “Well, it’s really just a visual representation of Plato’s concept of The Forms."

“Oh, don’t be so modest!” chuckled Felix, “Please, let us sit down and you will tell me all about this piece.”

“If you insist! I don’t want to bore you to death!” Joseph gasped at what had been uttered from his lips, but Felix showed no sign that he had noticed.

Clearing his throat, Joseph continued, “I’m working with using tautological statements, where things are what they say they are. It’s all very simple, really, I even wrote instructions to the exhibitor on how to display the piece. There are three components; a chair, a photograph of the chair, and the text of a dictionary definition of a ‘chair’. The exhibitor is to choose a chair, and then photograph it as it is displayed next to the wall. The photograph is enlarged to be the exactly the same size as the original chair and hung to the left of it. Lastly, the blown up text definition of a ‘chair’ is to be hung to the right of the original chair, and aligned with the photograph, “ Joseph frowns, “I’m not boring you yet, am I?”

“Not in the slightest!” Gesturing with his hand, Felix beseeched, “Please, continue.”

A cool breeze blows through Felix’s hair, and Joseph notices how gaunt his face is beginning to look. Biting his lower lip, Joseph resumes his explanation.

“I want the viewer to ask themselves upon viewing my piece, to say ‘What is real?’“

“It’s the definition, isn’t it? Without the definition, we would never know what an actual chair is in the first place.” Felix reached his hand out, as if to grab an invisible bug.

“That’s precisely it, old friend!” Joseph smiled, and watched Felix’s eyes dance around in the distance.

“I find it quite interesting how people need definitions for everything. It seems as though everything needs a label nowadays. The world can’t possibly function if something doesn’t fit into a neat little category”, sighed Felix.

“What do you mean?” Joseph inquired.

“Well, I despise the fact that most people want me to be pigeonholed as a gay, minority artist. What I struggle most with in my art is that I want people to see beyond all that. I need my viewers to be part of my work. How can I get them to feel connected when they are constantly thinking about where I was born, or what my sexual preferences are?” Felix searches Joseph’s face. “I’m dying, Joseph. I don’t want my legacy to be tainted by some homophobic bigots.”

Joseph sat, unable to offer any words that could calm his friend. It was difficult for him to understand where Felix was coming from, because he had never been judged in that way. Looking out into the pool, Joseph searched in vain for something to lighten the mood.

Breaking the silence, Felix suddenly burst, “Let’s get a drink, old friend!”

Joseph grins, and reaches into his jacket for his handkerchief. Lightly dabbing at his forehead, he looks over at Felix.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

Both men got up from their chairs and walked out onto the grass. Joseph realized that this might be the last time he shares a drink with his friend. 

It will be a beautiful night, he thought.