This Is Art...

Years ago, I was living fairly far away from my brother, and he made the trek to come see me. We spent the weekend doing a variety of things, and one of those things was going to a pretty-famous, nearby town to which he had never been.

It was early summer, and the temperatures were in the 110's, and my brother, husband, and I walked down the town's shop lined street, and frankly it was awful. So, we ducked into a shop, just to get out of the heat.

It took a moment for our eyes to adjust, but once they did, we saw we were in a rug shop. The proprietor, a small man, was immediately at our sides.

"Are you looking for art?" he whispered.

I was looking to not get heat stroke, but my husband, who will literally talk to anyone was like, "We are just looking?"

"Well, let me show you what we have." The man swung his arm wide and encompassed the gallery.

Rugs hung from every inch of wall space, and were piled on the floor. The man clearly only wanted to talk to other men, a common problem with salesmen, and he drug my husband and brother from rug to rug, explaining the artistry that went into making each one.

I lost track of time in there, and even though I had been left behind on the initial tour of the shop, they eventually circled back to me.

"And this one. This is pure art. You cannot put it on the ground. It is for hanging only."

The man gestured to a rug the size of a doormat. I walked to it.

"It is handwoven with silk by artisans in Afghanistan. Touch it!"

My husband reached out.

"Oh there is a difference," he said.

The man nodded excitedly at the fact my husband was getting it.

"This is one of our best pieces. $20,000."

My jaw fell. $20k for a doormat?

My husband continued to touch the rug. My brother also did.

Then I saw the image weaved into the rug. Despite being the smallest rug in the shop, it was the most horrifying.

"It is called, Marriage Day," the man said.

And the rug showed a group of men gathered around a nearly naked woman tied to a stake on a stage.

"Umm, this doesn't look like a marriage," I said, saying my first thing since I'd gotten in there.

"This is back in the old days, when they would sell the bride," he told me, like I was the bona fide idiot.

"The texture is really impressive," my husband was saying.

"Are you seeing the rug?" I asked.

My husband looked at me and then back at the rug. I watched his eyes widen.

"Well this has been really nice," my husband said, letting go of the hand woven silk.

"Here is my card," the man said. "When you are ready for art, you call me back."

We went back outside in to the BLAZING sunlight.

"What the literal F was that?" I said.

My brother shook his head. "I was having an allergy attack. I couldn't really see anything."

"I was only looking at the craftsmanship," my husband said.

As previously discussed, my husband doesn't actually see things right in front of him, but he can pick you out an elk from three hundred yards away. I knew he had no idea what the design was until I pointed it out.

My brother sneezed.

"Did that really just happen?" I asked.

"I'm not sure I'm into this town," my brother said, trying not to sneeze again.

We did not call him back, even though I do feel like I am ready for art. But consensual art. That's what I'm looking for. It's probably what I'm always looking for.