The Peculiar Red Line

Fredrick pushed his thumbprint into his chin, crossing his left arm over his chest and holding up his right arm. He absorbed the details of a peculiar painting in front of him. Within the walls of the museum, several had taken his breath away and moved him greatly; yet this particular painting was so peculiar he couldn’t take his eyes off it until he understood why.

The painting itself was of a small sphere in the center that was vibrant yellow, like a sunflower petal. A forest green surrounded the sphere but the paint had underlayed a cooler, blue-green beneath the yellow sphere to protrude the ball outward, creating the illusion of depth of field.

Frederick wasn’t impressed with the painting necessarily, rather he was fixated on a specific spot on the painting. There was a red line that hung off-center inside the yellow sphere, placed perfectly in the ball that it neither crossed any grid or rule-of-thirds reference, it didn’t meet at any point or follow the flow of anything specific in the whole of the painting at all – it was perfectly out of place. And Frederick stared intensely at this red line, as thin as a pencil mark.

It began to bother him, like it was some mistake. Surely the artist should have caught this apparent flaw, it was aggravating Frederick how uncanny the one red line personally ruined the whole painting of the yellow sphere. But he had developed, just as everyone has, a blind trust that if the artwork is in a museum then there must be something he didn’t understand – he had failed to grasp the beauty of this odd red line.

Frederick shifted his weight in his stance and swapped thumbs pushing on his chin; he exhaled slowly to dissect the meaning of this unusual red line. He thought he’d start with the essence of the painting itself. With a uniquely polished appearance, the yellow sphere seemed extraordinarily third-dimensional, painted so smoothly and without the slightest brush stroke breaking the paint that Frederick believed he could take hold of the yellow sphere and hold it in his hands. Perhaps that is what the artist intended; to capture a depth of field so prominent that it would feel like the sphere could be held. Frederick pondered the ball and was slowly impressed with the careful artistry it must’ve taken to even out the paint in such a way that it looked printed on the canvas.

Secondly, Frederick considered the forest green surrounding the yellow sphere. The coats of green were slightly different in shades, if one took the time to notice. Frederick admired the immediate juxtaposition to the polished yellow sphere; the forest green was authentic and personal – it felt as if there was indeed a hand behind this art. Frederick began to imagine the brush that stroked along the canvas, how they felt, if the bristles were new and clean or ruined with a grey and moldy-green stain. He contemplated the size of the brush and how oily the paint was. Frederick took in all the details of the forest green that was slathered around the yellow sphere. The soft lighting in the museum glistened gently off the microscopic waves of paint that stuck the forest green onto the stretched canvas.

With these in mind, Frederick tried again to understand that out of irrefutable intentionality in the artist’s design and purpose for the painting – how spotless the yellow sphere was and how raw the forest green was painted on – he locked on to the red line, perfectly out of place with the painting. He slowly marveled at how incredible this single detail was. As if the red line was to challenge the viewer to not stare at it. Something about the red line suddenly became mesmerizing, as if the red line was, in a way, meant to break the perfection of the yellow sphere. Frederick started to piece it together: this red line, as thin as a pencil mark, cut delicately into the polished yellow sphere – which was clearly envisioned to draw forth a foreground and background that highlighted a dynamic depth of field – and the natural application of the forest green was intended to bring the canvas itself to life; allowing the spectators to imagine the creation of the canvas and the artist’s hand that applied the thick, sticky green paint. With a remarkable contrast of the smooth yellow sphere to the authentic forest green, the red line must symbolize the unknown balance between perfection and humanity. Frederick understood that a simple red line could bring a powerful message by being the very thing that captivated his attention in the first place. How unique this painting truly was, he thought. How spectacular this painting was to explore the realm of the great beyond with a single red line – the perfect balance between divinity and earth, between eternity and mortality. The revelation about this red line, as thin as a pencil mark, washed Frederick with a sense of accomplishment and privilege. He wondered how many other connoisseurs would appreciate such a thing as this.

Just then, a staff member walked by and saw the painting. He stopped, craned his neck forward and shook his head disappointedly. He pulled out a small pair of tweezers and reached towards the painting and pulled the red line off the canvas. It was only a piece of lint.