Features
BY KYLA ESTOYA
Your friend invites you to attend an art show. You, a writer, who likes to be classified separately from artists, agree because like literature, art resonates a sense of storytelling that you love—it just does it differently. You’ve been to a lot of art exhibits in the past but you still haven’t learned the art of dressing up. A few hours before the exhibit, your anxiety grows especially after finding out the event is going to be a big one. So this thought prolongs the decision-making. After mixing and matching a few outfits, you finally decide what to wear. You take one good look at yourself in the mirror, and then you leave. You show up to the venue with your phone mindlessly (and awkwardly) clutched near your chest because beneath your calm face, you’re frantically looking for your friend. He didn’t reply to your last message which is why for the third time, you tell yourself to relax. It’s a good thing that most of your friends are artists; they somehow convinced you that being surrounded by art brings comfort. There were numerous instances when you’d fall in love with an art piece and you would playfully describe it. This became a fun game you’d play with yourself. You start walking around the gallery, making sure to get a glimpse of each art piece, and you let your own thoughts amuse you. A few moments later, you find your friend’s artworks but no sign of him being there. You look around and you can’t find a familiar face. You check your phone again and still, no reply. Just when you decide to make your friend’s artworks your last stop, you see colors popping from the corner of your eye. You turn to your left and you feel one of the rarest feelings you’ve had with art—entertained. And no offense to your friend’s works—you think—but this piece literally speaks to you because it explicitly says CHILL OUT MAN. Curious, you draw closer to the work. There, you dive into the world of Tyler Spangler.
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NEW READER MAGAZINE
