Jane had decided - against her better judgement - that if she was going to get involved in her son’s life again, the best way to do that was to try and do something on his level, take part in something that he enjoyed and art, as much as she didn’t understand it, was something he enjoyed and loved more than anything else.
She was perfectly balanced on five inch heels as she walked into the installation. She was pleasantly surprised by the number of people wandering around and she helped herself to a glass of wine from the tray held by a nearby waiter as she started wandering around the art. It was very good. Personal.
She stopped beside a metallic piece. She knew all too well that she was far too analytical (when she was younger she would have said ‘too smart’ but she knew better than that by now) to understand the art, but she knew talent when she saw it and her son had talent.
She didn’t quite understand why it was hard for her to tell her son that the art was good. Though she was hearing people saying ‘wow, this piece is incredible’ and ‘look at the contrast of colours, very visceral’ and one particular young lady with long blonde hair touching a multi-textured piece with a smile, saying to herself ‘I told him it was awesome.’
Even though she did the rounds, she was drawn back to the metallic piece. It kind of fascinated her.