The room is suffused with a soft orange light.
There is music playing somewhere in the background. It echoes around the walls.
I’m sitting on a chair. It’s a high-seat chair, like a bar stool.
I’m sipping on a glass of chilled white whine. I poured it myself from the table up front.
There is no one else in the room. It’s just me, walking around, trying to piece together the happenings that recently took place here.
I’m taking slow steps around- walking between the tables, taking things in. There are half-filled wine glasses here and there. Bits and pieces of unfinished cake. Chairs turned at an angle so their occupant could leave.
I’m slowly nodding to the music as I head towards the cake stand. There are a good number of untouched pieces of cake. I help myself to them.
I catch a glimpse of someone who I think is the janitor. He’s wearing some sort of a black janitor apron. He popped in through a swinging door by the right of the cake and wine tables. I think there’s a store out back or something.
The janitor guy appears to have something of a frown on his face. I don’t know if the frown is for me. I don’t know what he’s frowning at.
I keep helping myself to the cake.
There’s an interesting looking single-sofa chair at one end of the room. It’s got an upholstered back and armrests, with smooth wooden legs. I think it looks cool. Fancy.
I walk towards it and sit down. It’s soft and firm at the same time. Soft enough that you feel relaxed, but firm enough to make you sit up straight at the same time.
I bite some more cake and sip some more chilled wine. I’m feeling pretty fancy.
I was one of the last people to arrive at the art exhibition.
Or you know what, no. I was the last person to arrive- I had to be. When I got here, a good number of people had already left. The artist was giving like the brief speech at the end where she was appreciating everyone for coming.
That was when I walked in.
It took a while to locate the place, I had to walk a considerable distance after getting out of the U-Bahn station. When I walked into the compound, I realized I had been here before.
I was here a few months ago. The college I’m enrolled at, was having an event. It was upstairs, in the hall on the first floor. There was dancing and brief speeches and talking and pictures and general fun.
At some point I was in a conversation with a classmate and her friend who had travelled in from the US. We were talking about something- something random.
And then my girlfriend came in from nowhere and grabbed me like “OoOhhH! So this is where you are! I leave you for five minutes, and this is what you’re doing- chatting excitedly with girls!”
Haha.
Later she’d be dancing with someone who used to be my roommate in freshman year. Jake. In between spins she’d glance at my face, searching for signs of jealousy.
Hah.
Later we’d be talking in a corner, taking in the interesting aesthetics of the room- the glossy wooden floors and ornate furnishings. She’d be telling me about how the room reminded her of an old couple she met somewhere. How it reminded her of their house, and how talking with them in that house made her begin to dream about growing old with a partner in such a cozy space.
I thought that was interesting.
At the same time I was contemplating putting a hand up her skirt. Or down her trousers- whatever she was wearing at the time. We were in a somewhat private corner. There were a number of sofas, and the area was separated from the rest of the room by a thick soft velvet curtain.
It was very possible no one would notice us there. I took some time to think about it, while she talked on about the old couple.
Hm hm hm, should I try to be responsible, or should I just go for it — Hm —
I’m still sitting on the interesting soft-but-firm sofa. I think this general kind of chair is called a Charlotte chair.
I’m sipping some more on the glass of white wine.
From my perch on the chair, I stare at the art pieces that line the wall.
I think they’re interesting pictures. The theme of the exhibition is “Reflections”, and the artist was exploring that idea in her photographs. Exploring edges and contrast in buildings and a number of other objects. Interesting pictures.
I’m a little surprised that the pictures are here on the wall, even after everyone has left. I’m not entirely sure how art exhibitions work. Is someone going to come pack them up later? I don’t know.
I also don’t know if this room is an actual art gallery. It doesn’t really feel like it. It feels more like a general-purpose room what was decorated and furnished for the purpose of the event. That’s why it feels strange to have the pictures still all be here.
I keep sipping on the wine, and enjoying the dreamy ambience of the vacated exhibition.
The room is still echoing with the music playing in the background.
The German janitor is probably still frowning.
Image: A different exhibition. A different continent.
PS: I’m running out of Berlin pictures. I need to plan towards some new trips.
Mayowa Osibodu's Blog. 