Day 19

A friend invited me to his exhibit today. Under a framed photograph at the farthest end of the hall was the word “freedom.” That killed me. Freedom? What did anybody know about freedom? The picture was that of the ocean – a deadly cliché. What had he achieved so he could confine freedom into a single idea? Freedom is freedom, not a beachfront, not a landscape, not the sky. It was incredibly self-absorbed of him to think he could capture the essence of such a word as “the ocean.” I swiped the last glass of chardonnay from the server and left.