A Bellyful Of Laughter

'I intend to make Art.' she said with conviction. 'It's a conceptual piece, about my affliction.'

'Well, now you're 0.6 you've got time on your hands.  I can see the temptation; to turn to creating. To do something for You after years in Education.  Yes, do something for you. It's a must, a necessity.  Our time on this earth is defined by its brevity. It's definitely the right thing to do.' 

'Exactly,' she concurred, and slightly non-plussed.  'You've hit the nail on the head.  Indeed, your lyricism surprises me, it has to be said.'

He flinched, but said nothing, so she told him some more.

'It's a personal piece, but it certainly won't bore.  For the personal's political, and its appeal will be broad.'

'Is it text-based or visual?'

'Well, what do you think?  I've said it's conceptual.  The whole project would sink, without something in writing to explain what it means. Where would we be without paper and ink?'

'Do you mean that a photograph can't stand alone?'

'Good God,' she said, 'it's like trying to get blood from a stone.  The images are a visualisations of what I am saying.'

'You mean they're reduced to mere illustrations?'

To Be Continued...