Task 7 - "The Unknown Art" by Miryana

The Unknown Art

“Whut”s dat?”

The two teenagers stared at one of the French exhibits that were brought for a month to the Contemporary Art section at the Brooklyn museum. Such art didn’t mean much to two black kids, although you could say they were literally immersed in it all day long. They were its blazing representatives, and they were Samanya and I, back in 1994.

“It sayz Paris Mont-something…Itz French,” said she. Later, when I was already in college, I found out that her name means “the unknown one”. And so it was with that girl.

“A bunch of cats ridin’ on an ol’ broken-ass bus, man. U sho dat aint NY?”

“It dont say NY, iz it? Da guy’s French – Duhbuffet. And dat sign on da bus – itz in French I think.”

“Yeah. Eau mineralee – sounds like the word dat my grandma sayz for perfume. U know she from Big Easy.”

“Kinda feel dat one. All those people walkin’ or ridin’ in couplez. No one iz out there, alone…” Samanya had the strange ability to darken her brown eyes at will.

“Whutz up, boo? Why u do me like dat? U trippin’ over dat fox Rakisha again?” The feeling of guilt that I had came over me again.

“I aint trippin’. Itz just I cant see whut u saw in her. U aint like ur boy Tylor.”

“Told ya itz over. Couldnt take her game no mo’’” Now I wonder how I could even think for a second that this can make her believe me. But I there I was, and I didn’t want to drive her away.

“Anywayz, dont u worry ‘bout Taylor. He went O.T. u know. Cuz of dat shootin’ last Friday.Somethin wrong wit those colorz? They shoulda taken better care of their stuff round here.” I would often stare at “Paris Montparnasse” later on, thinking about the faded yellow, grey and blue. They looked even paler next to the bright silhouette of Samanya, the unknown one.

“Colorz iz just fine dat way. Dem folks r smiling, but then again, they r like in pain or somethin’. “ She turned her eyes away from the painting and onto me.

“U had nothing to do wit it, did you? Those guys from da Bronx wont know ya? They cant. Uve got plans. U be leavin soon.” She wanted to look strong, but her eyes gave her away.

“Nah, boo. Neva went wit Tee dat night. Momz needed help wit lil’ CC. Trust me on this one. U know Id neva lie to ma ebony queen.” I really didn’t go. Truth is, I got cold feet. He was my friend, but I had to try my chances after high-school. Couldn’t afford to get stuck in the rut of beautiful Brooklyn. Much as I would want to say I did it for her, I did it for myself.

Samanya looked at the picture once again.

“Glad they brought us here. It aint da usual stuff u get in dem books. It different.”

Over the years at arts school, I grew a fondness for the works of Dubuffet. They have always looked like some alien graffiti. All his black lines have a strange hold on me, in them I see Samanya.

“I feel ya. And all those people goin somewhere in their automobiles.” Another instant of regret. It seems that back then, I couldn’t help myself from hurting her.

“U be gone one day. And me, I be stayin here. Mr Collins sayz a lot of good stuff about ya. Sayz u got sum great future. He knowz thangs.”

“It aint like itz gonna be foreva. Ill be back. Youll see boo. I cant be without ur hershey kisses now, can I?” And yet I could. I don’t know how I managed to do that, but her taste doesn’t come easily to me now.

“ I dont want ya back.” She said it plain and simple. In that intense moment, all there was , was the painting on the wall. People floating rather than walking, somewhere in between dimensions, heading who knows where. Probably home.

“Whut ya sayn’ Sami?”” I raised my voice in anger.

“Shhh. Keep quiet, or theyll be throwing us out!” when she meant something no force on Earth could contradict her. “U heard me. I dont want ya back. So ud betta not come n look for me. Ive had ‘bout enough from you. Us, together, it aint meant to be. “

“So whut am I suppose to do now, huh? “ All thoughts came rushing through my head. I thought of her skin. That couldn’t be right. I suddenly felt the need to get on that Parisian bus and leave her in the middle of the museum the way she did. Let her wonder why I was doing such a thing to her. Sit in a seat and watch her turn into a human speck in the distance.

“Think Im done wit this one. Ill go check out da one over there.” She swayed her hips over to the next exhibit, a couple of minutes before our teachers called on us to head home. What she saw in the unfamiliar painting - I never got to know.

The unknown one. I can picture her now. A powerful woman, unbending to no one’s desires but hers. She can let you take her in your arms, but she’d never let you bend her. I can almost see her lips turned up in a proud smile. But the taste of her – that I cannot recall.