Vesna McMaster – Absence

Absence, obscene, obsolete, absolute.

‘Paint the space that is not’, they said. ‘Express the vase of flowers through the absence of vase’. Like calculating the motion of orbiting stars. I drew the space that is not, and the eye of chocolate cosmos stared out like black punctures in the space-time continuum, collapsing beneath the weight of the denial of their existence.

Are the strokes of my brush now obsolete, now that images bloom from keystrokes? Who am I kidding, they were never relevant; but now their redundancy is absolute. Can AI smell of linseed? Not yet, but surely soon. —They can already make water taste like oranges by manipulating charge.

The cosmos and I exchange dark glances.

‘They don’t need us here.’

‘No, they don’t.’

‘Wanna leave?’

‘Yeah. Where are we going?’

The cosmos laughs. ‘Where d’you think I get my name from?’

The chocolate petals unfurl into vast, undulating, veined sheets, which pulse iridescent rays into the corner of consciousness. ‘Let’s go. Our presence is required.’